The progress was slow here. The road began to incline upwards once more, a increasingly steep path upwards to the southern mouth of the Ystwrythian plateau. The plateau itself was but a brief respite before the High-Mountains of Ullwydellan that lay to its north. They were the true mountains of the Neurryth, the very core of this world, their peaks so high that much of them were lost in the eternal clouds. Few Dwarves ventured high into those mountains – that was where the Dragons dwelled and no one entered their realm without good reason lest on Dragonquest or taken my some madness. The Dragons guarded their realm and its secrets jealously and most of the Dwarves only found death there.
Owain remembered well the day of the funeral. The large plaza in front of the Neudd had been cleared of the market for that day and a great funeral pyre had been built. Marcdudd’s body would be given to the fires of tine then his blackened bones buried in the earth of ithir to receive the embrace of the All-Mother.
Rain
All of Ystwryth had come to mourn Marcdudd, taken by a sudden illness that not even Cthul could fathom. They came to mourn him and pay respect to their grief-stricken king who had lost his only the winter before. They all came, the Thanes of the Rhuddlan and Dolwyddelan, and their Yarls and Cheryls, the common folk of the three tribes and the warriors of the warbands and tribal fyrds.
Beside his king Owain stood prepared to steady the man with his arm if his body failed him. The king would utter prayers and then light the pyre. On Rhydderch’s other side stood Manawydan, his face with little grief for his departed brother, his heart perhaps, bursting with a joy of realization of just how high he now stood.
Deathwatch warriors
Around the plaza the rhythmic wailing of the old crones echoed, their dirge biting into the souls of the assembled men. The old women, clad in the black of their widow’s weeds, wailed for their lost prince but also for all the mothers and fathers, husbands and children they had lost over the course of their lifetimes. Their wailing was their only duty in this world, their bodies and minds to aged for toil.
In front of the pyre stood the Cthul, cloaked and cowled in their thick robes. Led by their master Gruffydd, they anointed the pyre with their potions and herbs, ensuring that it would be a great balefire, worthy of a prince and the son of Rhydderch ap Iorwain. As they worked they sang, calling out to the All-Father to guard Marcdudd’s passing to the afterlife, competing with the wailing of the old crones. Among them was Eddwyn, newly chosen to join their ancient order. Despite his parentage the boy was known around the city to show great promise and have a massive strength in tine and ithir. In time he would go to Syndryn to study, something only the most accomplished of the Cthul would ever hope to do. Now the boy, carrying to large urns of herbs in either arm and looking uncomfortable in his new robes, followed the other Cthul around as they sang and worked.
Owain could not remember what words the king had spoken to the crowd, what prayers he had offered to the All-Mother and All-Father for the soul of his son. All that he could remember was that as Rhydderch moved forward to light the pyre his footing had given out and he had stumbled. Thirty years he had known the man, serving together in the fyrd when they were barely men against the Skalds, and he had never seen weakness in him. He hurried to the High-King’s side and took his arm to steady him. Rhydderch looked at him gratefully for his Penteulu had saved him from public disgrace.
“Owain I cannot do it…….” he had whispered to him. His eyes darted to the firebrand, burning brightly in his shaking hand.
“I will take it lord, there is no dishonour”
He had reached for the firebrand only to have his hand knocked away. Manawydan had come to his father’s side as well. His eyes burned brightly as he seized the brand from Rhydderch’s grasp.
“It is my duty Penteulu, not yours. You are not needed anymore!”
Without further words he left the two older men and mounted the steps to the funeral pyre, his movements full of purpose. The assembled crowd watched closely – the weakened and grief-stricken High- King and his strong and vital son. Silently Owain despaired, wandering what fate awaited him. Manawydan’s words were brutally direct and with clear purpose, he was not needed anymore. A new order was coming to Ystwryth. The weak and power-hungry would flock to Manawydan now as his star soared and Owain would be forgotten. What fate would befall him and his family if Manawydan was successful in Dragonquest and became High-King?
Above them his enemy put fire to his brother’s pyre. The flames leapt and despite the rain the balefire was soon burning brightly. The singing of the Cthul and the wailing of the crones had reached a crescendo. The women called to the Nehemiah, the All-Mother in their wailing, entreating her to take the soul of Marcdudd to her bosom, the Cthul sang to Yurlungur, the All-Father, seeking his protection of the departed soul on its passage into the afterlife. The assembled warriors around the pyre, who had stood deathwatch over Marcdudd’s body throughout the night, began to beat their spear-points against their oak shields in a rhythmic thunder. The combined noise was deafening but necessary. Only such a tumult would gain the attention of the gods and gain their favour to ensure the passing of the soul into the halls of the afterlife. Owain still holding the High-King’s arm felt the man quall under the noise, each crash of spear and shield sending shiver’s through Rhydderch’s body. The balefire raged now, its heat washing over the crowd’s faces.
“My son, my son…” Rhydderch called out in anguish, though only Owain could hear his words amid the noise.
To their right came a loud crash. Owain turned to see young Eddwyn lying on the ground beside the fire, the urns smashed in pieces, their contents scattered around his limp form. It seemed the boy had been overcome by the flames. Two Cthul were lifting the boy to his feet as Owain returned his attention to the flames and Manawydan. The prince had remained beside the pyre seemingly oblivious to its searing heat.
His attention was drawn back to Eddwyn by shouting. The boy was being held by his two brothers but his body had gone rigid and his eyes were wide open yet rolled back in his head with only the whites showing. Gruffydd, was shouting something to the two brothers holding the boy but his words were lost in the noise. Suddenly, without any warning, a shrill keening erupted from the boy’s lips, a sound so unnatural that it made the small hairs stand straight up on the back of Owain’s neck. Others in the crowd heard it too as a thousand pairs of eyes shifted from the fires to Eddwyn.
The two brothers who had been holding him stepped back verily. The boy remained on his feet as the shrill cry continued, unnaturally, without pause for breath. There was something wrong in the way he stood, his body shivering and spasming under the control of some otherworldly force. The other Cthul began to back away from him and even the warriors of the deathwatch no longer watched the pyre their eyes lingering on such a sight. At the pyre Manawydan turned towards the young Cthul, a look of deep annoyance across his features…
The shrill keening stopped suddenly as it began Eddwyn began to speak to the hushed crowd. It was not his own voice that issued from his mouth. Instead the voice was impossibly deep and loud, its strength carrying across the entire plaza. Like the keening cry that had proceeded it, the voice made the crowd shudder and tremble such was its force.
“He who lies on the fire is restless. He does not enter the embrace of the mother, His soul is lost and weeping!”
Among the crowd people gasped. A strangled cry erupted from Rhydderch’s quaking lips. The voice within Eddwyn continued.
“He has been ripped from this world by murder. One of his own blood has betrayed him, has betrayed his father, betrayed the people!”
Many eyes among the crows flickered towards Manawydan still standing beside the burning pyre.
“A doom upon he who sheds the blood of his kin. No bed shall give him rest, no food shall fill his stomach, no ale shall quench his thirst! His very body will reject his soul and fester and in the end, all will abandon him and he shall die alone without t
he embrace of the mother!”.
With that Eddwyn slumped and seemed to fall to ground once more, unconscious. His brothers, forgetting their fear, rushed forward to catch his limp body.
More gasps and cries were rising up from the crowd. Owain felt the king weaken and he put his arm around him to keep him on his feet. Tears were rolling down his face. Owain looked up at Manawydan once more. The prince’s eyes were like black pits, his mouth twisted in anger. He stared back at Owain, both of them knowing each others thoughts.
Everyone in the crowd knew what had occurred. Eddwyn had the gift of thought and memory, the ‘mouth of the gods’, something only a handful of Cthul were thought to possess through the centuries. Some called it a gift, others a curse, but all knew that when such words were uttered it was the voice of the gods that spoke and the gods always spoke truth. Marcdudd’s words had been murdered by someone of his own blood. Owain’s thoughts much have been matched by many in the crowd. Manawydan’s cruelty and lust for power were known to all and yet Eddwyn’s words, god given or not, had not explicitly named him….
The funeral had ended then. Manawydan had departed, smouldering scowling, surrounded by his Blackshields, while Owain had escorted his king back to the Neudd. Rhydderch was barely in control of himself by then. On returning to the Neudd the High-King had barred the doors of his quarters and taken to his bed. In the days that followed he did not emerge from his quarters as the nobility and commoners of Ystwryth alike, gossiped about the ill-omened words of Eddwyn. Some uttered Manawydan’s name though they were few in number for many feared the young prince with good reason. For his part Manawydan remained at the War Neudd with his Blackshields, publicly issuing threats to Eddwyn for the lies the young Cthul had spoken.
It was Owain who had gone to Gruffydd, the master of the Ystwrythian Cthul, and arranged for the boy’s exile to Syndryn. If he had not a dagger would have found the boy’s neck some dark night or perhaps some poison would find its way into his meal some day. Eddwyn, who had ever had a dark cloud around him because of who is parents were, and now doubly so, was soon gone from the city, thus preserving his life.
In the years that had followed Rhydderch fell ever into an deeper and darker pit of sadness and despair. He never openly spoke of Eddwyn’s words not allowed any to speak of it in front of him, but all could see that those words weighed heavily on his mind. As the seasons passed, he aged, at a speed far too quickly to be nature’s command. Manawydan was seldom at court, perhaps knowing that his father knew of his guilt and would not suffer his presence. So he stayed away while Rhydderch declined and made his plans. Time and time again Owain had tried to talk to his king but his words held little weight now, especially when mention of either of his sons, one dead and loved, one living and not, was made. Nothing could dissuade the High-King from his decline into despair and all of the court spoke of his growing madness and imminent death. Amid this Manawydan had not been idle. Many Ystwrythians, those with power such as Rhirid, Thane of the Rhuddlan and Iorwerth, fyrdchief of Ystwryth and Gruffydd of the Cthul, now openly supported him. When the time came he would go on Dragonquest and if he returned successfully he would rise to take his father’s throne. Owain and his family’s deaths would soon follow.
This was why he had gone to Syndryn. He needed Eddwyn back in Ystwryth. All knew that the boy had the mouth of the gods and that his words had been true that faithful morning. Owain would never see Manawydan sit on the throne and Eddwyn would be needed at his side when he brought the prince low.
The Southern Wards of Caern Clawdd and Caern Bleddyn loomed above them in the distance. The two fortresses marked the southern boundary of the Ystwrythian plateau and had stood guard over its pass for millennia. Caern Bleddyn had been raised by Culhwch the Kinslayer, named for his brother whom he slayed in open contest to become High-King. Caern Clawdd had been raised a century later by Llyewrc Morningflower, who had died upon Baddon Myrn, the Mountain of the Blood, in battle against the might of the Highland nations. Each fortress stood many stories high, their foundations built deep into the roots of the mountains that ringed the plateau. Both their bastions were thick and high with battlements sprouting a lethal assortment of bastilae and catapults. Any enemy that managed to fight their way up the cliff-face and waterfalls would then face this fortressed pass, passing between the two Caerns and their battery of weapons. In addition each fortress contained a garrison of warriors from the city fyrd, ready to spew forth from their fortified gates and smash any invader. Despite Ystwryth’s decline over the last four centuries, no enemy had ever been able to pierce their defences and live to tell the tale.
“Are you glad to be home boy?”
Eddwyn stared up at the Southern Ward, looming ever closer as their mounts negotiated the path upward.
“Ask me in a few days Penteulu, then I shall give you my answer”.
Owain laughed hoarsely, the boy was no fool.
“In a few days who knows what the Gods will bring us, perhaps by then we will both have entered the embrace of the All-Mother!”
Eddwyn shivered slightly under his heavy robes.
“Perhaps my lord, but I trust in you to keep my neck free of Manawydan’s axe. For that reason I have agreed to come with you!”
“Just so” Owain answered though in truth the boy had had little choice. He had been ordered by his new master to return with Owain and there were few Dwarves who would ever refuse the command of one such as the Cthulwalda.
“My family….?” Eddwyn asked him again, a question oft repeated on their journey north.
“Whatever is to happen, they will be cared for. My Teulu will see them escorted to Syndryn if anything should befall us, with enough gold in their pockets to live their lives in comfort” he told Eddwyn soothingly “do not fear, even now they are guarded well”.
“The winter had been long” the young Cthul observed in way of reply “who knows what plans and plots Manawydan has put his mind and hands to since then”.
The boy’s words mirrored Owain’s earlier thoughts but the Penteulu kept such an observation to himself.
“The spring is here now my young friend, a new Cycle blossoming, full of promise. Manawydan has too long brought darkness to our land, too long gathered followers and spears to his name. This year I will confront him, with words and iron, with Rhydderch’s blessing or no, and I will finish him!” Owain’s words were like stone “…and you Eddwyn will stand at my side”.
The boy nodded resignedly.
“We must consider Gruffydd. When I left Ystwryth he and Manawydan were close, is that the case now?”
“It is” Owain confirmed “if anything your old master is even closer to Manawydan now. When the time comes he and the Cthul will support him I fear”.
Eddwyn nodded slowly, considering.
“This presents me with some difficulty – I wish to aid you against Manawydan but I cannot oppose Gruffydd’s wishes publicly nor fight with my brothers openly”.
Owain shrugged, that was a mountain to be cross when the time came.
“I know the restrictions you live under Cthul” he told Eddwyn, perhaps using his title for the first time. “I trust that you will use your powers to aid me as much as is permitted. I have no wish to meddle in the affairs of the ancient brotherhood. Your simple presence at my side will make many remember your words at Marcdudd’s funeral and sway them to my side!”.
“Father!”
His eldest son Llan called to him in alarm. The boy’s face had gone pale under his black beard. He stared up intently at Caern Clawdd.
“What is it my son?” Owain followed the boy’s gaze to the ancient fortress but saw nothing. His aged eyes were not what they had been in his youth.
“Gods…I see it now…” Eddwyn’s face grew pale.
“What is it Llan, the All-Father take you!” he growled at his son, a rising fear clawing at his chest.
“The banner father…..the Ystwrythian banner on the Caern’s battlements. It flies at hal
f mast!”
Then Owain saw it. The Dragon banner of Ystwryth flew from the middle of the flagpole atop the fortress. It would only be placed like that for one reason. When a High-King of Ystwryth entered the embrace of the All-Mother.
Rhydderch ap Iorwain, High-King of Ystwryth was dead.
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