Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle

  "Stay, Maildun! You are put in your place. The bard has answered truthfully." Avallach inclined his head toward Taliesin. "You shall be rewarded for saving my daughter's life."

  "I claim no reward, lord. Neither will I accept any." He made a stiff bow to Charis. "Having seen the lady safely home, I will leave now." He turned and moved toward the curtained doorway.

  "Wait outside but a little," Avallach called after him. "I will go with you."

  "After all that has happened, do you still insist on carrying out this ill-advised plan of yours?" snarled Maildun when Taliesin had gone.

  "All that has happened has served to harden my resolve," Avallach replied.

  "Are you so anxious to give your realm away?" said Belyn. "It is getting dark; it will be night soon. Wait until tomorrow at least. There will be time enough to do it then."

  "Having resolved to do a good thing," Avallach answered, stepping toward the curtain, "I am loath to delay even a moment. No, I will go at once. What is more, I want you to accompany me." Belyn and Maildun gaped in disbelief. "Yes, we will all go," continued Avallach. "Whatever you think about the land, we have an insult to atone and gratitude to express."

  So the Fisher King and Taliesin, with Charis, Maildun, and Belyn, rode through the twilight to the place where Cuall had set up camp—by a stream on a small meadow in the lee of a nearby hill.

  On their approach to camp, the riders were met at the stream by sentries. "Hail, Taliesin! You have returned at last. Your father is waiting for you," the sentry, one of Elphin's remaining warriors, informed them.

  A huge fire was burning brightly, orange flames flinging back the gathering gloom, and from crackling caldrons set in the coals around the outer edge came the smell of herbed broth and meat in bubbling stew. Crude shelters, hastily constructed out of branches and hides, ringed the fire. Elphin and Rhonwyn emerged from one of these as the riders dismounted.

  "Lord Avallach," said Elphin in surprise. "We did not think to see you again."

  "Lord Elphin, Lady Rhonwyn," replied Avallach courteously, "it is not our intention to intrude where our presence is not wanted. But events have led us a different course since last we met. I wish to speak to you, if you will hear me out."

  Elphin turned to his wife. "Fetch us a horn of beer, if there is any left." To his guests he said, "It is early yet. Have you eaten?"

  "We came from the palace straightaway," answered Taliesin. "We will eat together."

  "A meal would be a kindness," Avallach said. He drew the crisp night air deep into his lungs. "Ahh! The ride has done me good, I think. A short time ago I was abed with my injury; now I feel as hale as ever."

  "Welcome then," said Elphin, and he called for torches to be brought and placed around his ox-hide hut. Rhonwyn came with a horn of beer for the guests and one for the Cymry.

  "My lords," she said, "sit and discuss your affairs. I will bring food when it is ready." She returned to the fire and the other women working there. The Cymry gathered nearby watched closely but unobtrusively; without seeming to take any notice at all, they nevertheless knew all of what took place and most of what was said.

  As they settled in a circle, Hafgan and Cuall arrived. Elphin made places for them and passed his horn. "Join us," he told them. "Lord Avallach has come to speak with us and I have sworn to hear him out."

  "It is for you to say, lord," muttered Cuall, implying that king or no, Avallach owed his continued existence to Elphin's manifold generosity, and that if it had been his decision things would have been different. Hafgan merely gathered his robe about him, accepted the horn, and drank.

  "We expected you hours ago," Elphin told Taliesin. "When you did not follow us back to camp, I became concerned."

  Taliesin began to reply, but Avallach said quickly, "My daughter was attacked while riding this afternoon by Irish raiders—seven of them I believe you said?" Charis confirmed this with a nod. "I do not know how this happened precisely, but your son came to her aid and saved her life."

  "Is this so, Taliesin?" wondered Elphin.

  "It is. Three were killed and the rest fled on foot."

  "And are halfway home by now," snorted Cuall.

  "I am indeed grateful," continued Avallach, "but that is not why I came." He paused, aware of the suspicion of the dark eyes around him. "It is about the land."

  "You said events had left you of a different mind," said Elphin. "Has this attack something to do with it?"

  "In part. Taliesin asked for no reward and said he would accept none. Very well, that is his choice. And in truth I had already decided what to do before I learned of the attack." Avallach lifted the horn and drank. The others looked on— the Cymry wary, the Atlanteans indignant. "That is good," Avallach said, lowering the horn. "I have never tasted anything like that before."

  "We are not without civility—coarse though it may be," growled Cuall.

  Elphin gave his second-in-command a quick, impatient gesture and Cuall subsided into flinty silence. "If I had a cask it would be yours," he told Avallach. "But the beer, like so much else, is gone." He looked directly at Avallach and asked, "Why have you come?"

  The Fisher King reached into his wide girdle and brought out Elphin's knife. "I came to return your knife."

  "It was a gift to a friend."

  "And that is why I must return it now. My actions earlier today were not the actions of a friend. Please, take back your knife."

  Elphin stared at the knife but made no move to take it. "The gift was freely given and I do not regret it. A gift should be honored."

  Avallach placed the knife between them. Cuall reached out for it, but Taliesin grabbed his wrist. "Leave it!" he whispered.

  "Why not accept the knife?" asked Avallach. "Is it not mine to give?"

  "Do what you will; I have no claim to it."

  "But it was your knife," insisted Avallach.

  Elphin glanced at Hafgan, whose expression remained blank. "It is no longer mine," he said warily. "My gift imposed no obligation."

  Avallach smiled, his face mysterious in the torchlight. "A gift should be honored—that is what you said. I accept your gift, and I ask you likewise to accept the gift which I now bestow."

  The statement took Taliesin by surprise. "As my father has said you are under no obligation—"

  "I understand that or I would never have come here tonight." Taking up the knife once more, Avallach said, "Will you honor the gift I give?"

  Elphin sought consensus in the expressions of his advisors, but their faces offered no help; none guessed what Avallach was planning. "A gift must be offered before it can be accepted. But I see no harm in accepting whatever token you wish to give."

  "Rightly said, King Elphin!" Avallach all but shouted in triumph. The Cymry exchanged worried, puzzled glances. Belyn and Maildun frowned.

  "Well, what is this token?" Cuall asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

  "No great distance from here there is a fortress on a hill-ruined and abandoned now, I am told. The land round about is desolate, the people long ago driven off by one tribe or another…The Roman tribe, I have heard it said. It is good land but useless without men to work it. I give it all to you— the fortress and the land with it."

  Cuall began rising to his feet, but Taliesin put his hand on his arm and held him down. "What sport is this?" Elphin said, eyes narrowed, his frown tense.

  "Please," soothed Avallach, "it is not my intention to insult you further, which is why I do not encumber my gift with any conditions." He grinned happily. "Your acceptance imposes no obligation."

  "But such a gift," remarked Hafgan. "One cannot accept a gift of this value without incurring obligation, directly or subtly."

  "Why not? What does the size of the gift matter? It is not a tenth of what I own—and even if it was half my kingdom I would feel no differently. I simply want you to have it."

  "Why?" asked Cuall, "So we will fight for you when the Northmen come screaming down from Pictland?"

  Av
allach confronted him bluntly. "That is as much insult to me as my unthinking offer was to you. Still, I do admit that an alliance between our two peoples would be advantageous, and I will seek it earnestly. But not through guile, and not through gifts."

  Elphin looked around him and caught Taliesin's eye; Taliesin nodded silently. "It is not easy to put aside the clanways of a hundred generations, nor scarcely less difficult to lay down a king's pride," Elphin replied evenly. "Another time, another place, I would not accept your gift, for it would shame me. But a king without land is no king at all; so for the sake of my people I will accept your gift, Lord Avallach."

  Cuall shook his head in amazement. His mouth flapped once, twice, and then closed again speechless.

  Hafgan studied those around him through half-closed eyes and allowed himself a private smile. Avallach slapped his knees and shouted, "That was well done, Lord Elphin! Land or no, you are a king, and the equal of any I have met. I welcome you as neighbor and friend."

  The clansmen, who had been following this involved exchange in their own secret way, burst out in cheer for their unexpected good fortune and for the honor paid their king. Suddenly the camp was awash in laughter and celebration. A harp was produced and thrust into Taliesin's hands. He jumped up and began to strum and sing, gathering other voices to his own until the whole camp rang in soaring, Celtic song.

  Avallach roared with laughter, his dark head thrown back, white teeth flashing through his beard as his great shoulders shook with delight. Even Belyn and Maildun managed fishy grins as they watched the celebration commence.

  During a lull in the singing, when the food was being served from the steaming caldrons, Taliesin found a moment to take his father aside. "Good fortune, eh, Taliesin? Less a surprise to you, I suspect, than to the rest of us."

  Taliesin shook his head. "Avallach's gift was his alone. I had no part in it."

  "And nothing to do with the saving of his daughter?" Elphin asked, favoring Taliesin with a knowing look.

  "She required little help from me. I arrived in time to scatter the sea-wolves, nothing more. They were only too happy to flee for their lives when I came upon them."

  "Remarkable," said Elphin. He turned his head to view Charis across the fire where she stood with Rhonwyn and several other women, helping to fill bowls with food. "A woman with beauty and spirit—a treasure, Taliesin." He looked at his son, noted the glimmer in the clear dark eyes, and grinned. "A worthy bride for a Cymry lord. Do you wish me to speak to her father?"

  "Indeed," replied Taliesin, his voice tight. "I have thought of nothing else since I saw her."

  "Then we waste time jawing on about it. I will speak to him now."

  "Now?"

  "What better time? Let us further the alliance between our people with a marriage!"

  With that Elphin strode off. Taliesin watched as his father made his way around the fire to Avallach, who stood talking to Cuall and Hafgan. He saw Elphin join the group, say a few words, and gesture in his direction. He saw Avallach's head come up and turn toward him. He saw his father's mouth moving, and he saw first surprise and then shock on the Fisher King's face. The smile never left Avallach's lips but passed directly into a grimace of anger.

  He saw Avallach's head swing around as words were spoken to his father and Elphin's wide smile dwindle into a look of bewildered dismay. Then the Fisher King turned stiffly and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later a call for the king's horses sounded. Maildun appeared beside Charis and took her by the arm. He saw Charis' frantic look over her shoulder as she was pulled away.

  Taliesin saw all this as he might have seen it in a dream—each detail sharp and clear and dreadful in its finality. Then his legs were moving and he was running around the circle of the fire. He caught Charis as she was being handed into the saddle. Her face in the firelight showed anxiety and confusion. "What happened?" she asked in a harsh whisper. "Avallach is angry."

  "We must talk," said Taliesin urgently, stepping close when Maildun moved to his own mount.

  "Charis!" Maildun shouted from his horse. "Come away."

  "We must talk, Charis!" insisted Taliesin.

  "Meet me in the orchard," she whispered, turning her horse in line with the others. "At sunrise."

  NINE

  TALIESIN ROSE JUST BEFORE DAWN THE NEXT MORNING AND rode to the Glass Isle to meet Charis. The night had been cool and the night vapors still lay on the marsh, rising from the narrow streams of open water to drift in undulating waves through the land, waiting for the warm rays of the morning sun to melt them with their touch.

  Upon reaching the orchard, Taliesin dismounted and tied his horse to a branch, and then walked among the blossom-bound trees. The night's dew on leaves and flowers glittered in the early light like little stars late to leave the sky. The long grass was wet, and water seeped down the smooth, charcoal-dark trunks of the apple trees and dripped from the branches in a slow, incessant rain to vanish in the soft green below. The air, though cool, was already thick with the scent of the blossoms.

  As Taliesin strolled the wide pathways of the grove, he gradually became aware of a sound winding through the trees, faint but clearly audible. On strands of liquid melody, a wordless song was weaving itself around branch and bole—as much a part of the grove as the pale pink blossoms themselves. He followed the sound, hoping to discover the singer, thinking that perhaps Charis had come after him and entered the orchard by another way.

  The source of the sound proved elusive, however, and it was some time before he could locate it, searching first this way and then another, only to have it disappear and come at him from another way. Finally, stooping beneath a low branch, he saw a fresh-made beech bower erected in the center of the orchard and before it a maid with hair like morning light, dressed all in green and sitting on a three-legged stool beside a tripod. Suspended from the tripod was a caldron over a small, smokeless fire. The caldron was round and made of a strange metal with a deep red luster, and its sides were etched with the figures of fantastic animals.

  The maid sang softly to herself as she dispersed the rising steam with a fan made of blackbird wings. Every now and then she would reach into a bowl at her feet and bring out a leaf or two which she dropped lightly into the boiling pot. Taliesin watched her for a little while before she turned her head to regard him, coolly and without the least hint of surprise in her green eyes or in her honeyed voice when she said, "Greetings, friend! You are early to the grove this morning. What brings you here?"

  Taliesin lifted the branch and stepped forward. "I have arranged to meet someone," he replied.

  "And so you have." The maid smiled, but whether with satisfaction or at some privately amusing thought he could not tell. "Come close, singer," she said, dropping another leaf into the pot. "Let us talk together."

  The maid bore an uncanny resemblance to Charis and was just as beautiful—although her beauty hinted at something cold and inhuman: the icy lacework of autumn frost on a summer rose perhaps, or the frozen elegance of a spring snowfall. "I had no wish to disturb you," he said.

  "Yet, having done so, would you compound your trespass by refusing my invitation to sit a while?" She did not look at him when she spoke but at the caldron.

  Taliesin noticed there was no place to sit save the ground and that was wet with dew. "I will stand, lady," he said, adding, "Would it greatly add to my offense to ask your name?"

  "You may ask," the maid replied. She smiled again and this time Taliesin saw that she was laughing at him.

  "I will not," he told her. "I would rather you think me rude."

  "Oh? Can you tell what I think?" she asked, observing him from beneath her lashes. Taliesin noticed that the pulse quickened its beating at the base of her throat. "You must be a most profound fellow. For if you can discern my thoughts, my name will present no obstacle to you."

  "Indeed I can think of several things to call you," replied Taliesin. "But which would suit you more, I wonder?"

  She
gave a flick with the fan and sent steam rolling into the air, and it suddenly seemed to Taliesin as if this maid had created the mists and fog with her boiling caldron and blackbird fan. "Call me whatever you like," she answered. "A name is only a sound on the air after all."

  "Ah, but sounds have meaning," Taliesin said. "Names have meaning."

  "What meaning will you give me?" she asked almost shyly. As she spoke these words, something about the maid changed—a subtle shift in her manner, in the way she held herself under his scrutiny—and Taliesin felt as if he were addressing a different person entirely. "Well? Have you no name for me?"

  She did not wait for an answer but went on hurriedly, "You see? It is not so simple to discover meaning as you suggest. Better a sound on the air, I think, than a troublesome striving after dead purpose."

  "What an extraordinary creature you are," laughed Taliesin. "You pose a question and answer it yourself. That is hardly fair."

  The lady colored at this, her cheeks burning crimson as if touched by a flame. She turned on him quickly, a fierce and feral light flashing in the green depths of her eyes. For an instant she was a wild, untamed thing ready to flee to the dark safety of a deep forest den. Taliesin felt the heat of anger and alarm lick out at him across the space between them. "Have I said something to upset you, lady? I meant no harm."

  The expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the maid smiled demurely. "Sounds in the air," she said. "Where is the harm?"

  She turned her attention to the pot, reached down, and took up a handful of leaves, dropping them one by one onto the surface of the boiling water. "My name is Morgian."

  Morgian…

  He stared at the maid before him, her name resounding like an echo in his ears. Slippery darkness flowed around him like the steamy vapor from the caldron, and Taliesin's spirit was seized and lifted like a coracle tossed on the ocean swell and thrown toward the rocks. He all but staggered with the effort of holding himself upright.

  It was power he had touched, raw and unreasoning as the wind that drives the waves onto the shore. He had encountered it before—once long ago—in the face of Cernunnos, the Forest Lord. It had shaken him then too. And he had fled from it.