The Pendragon's Challenge (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 7) (3 page)

“It isn’t hubris, Taliesin,” Rhiann said flatly. “None want, as you and Cade do, simply to protect them.”

Cade’s arm was still around her, and he squeezed her waist. “I’m glad you’re so sure,
cariad
, though I am not.” He gave a somewhat disparaging laugh—not directed at her but at himself. “I intend to use them as well. I would cut off my right hand before I’d give up Caledfwlch.” He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “It is a treasure as much as any of the others. Of course, I intend to use it only for good, to heal and protect, but I have killed with it too. Who’s to say that my motives are purer than another man’s?”

“They are,” Rhiann said. “Your people attest to it.”

“So I tell myself. So Taliesin tells me.”

Taliesin pressed his lips together, thinking again before speaking. “I have never told you the full power of the Treasures, Rhiann, for the truth isn’t for all ears. But you will be queen, and you carry Cade’s heir, and perhaps it is time you knew the truth too.”

“Too?” Rhiann glanced at Cade, who was looking very grave. This moment was exactly what she’d told herself that she trusted Cade and Taliesin enough to wait for—the moment when they told her what she needed to know.

“If we do not find the Treasures, Cade will be able to unite Wales for a time. But then, like all kings, no matter how great, he will fail and his kingdom will fall. Death is a fate accorded to all men, of course, but your husband is special. He is the heir to Arthur, the successor the stars have foretold for over a century. Even more, Wales faces many challenges in the coming years. If we do not gather the Treasures now, while they are in play, they will disappear again.” With uncharacteristic ferocity, Taliesin clenched his right hand into a fist and pounded it into his left. “Hundreds of years from now Wales will suffer grievously—”

“At the hand of the Saxons?” Rhiann said, horrified to hear that all their sacrifices would come to nothing.

“By them, yes, but they will be in the service of a new invader, a powerful overlord whom the world does not yet know. If we have the Treasures, their power will still protect us. Even at the last end of need, they will remind our blood that we are Welsh, and through their power, we will always find the strength to rise again.”

Rhiann looked at him closely. She didn’t know that she’d ever seen such a determined look on his face. “You mean that, don’t you?”

Cade grimaced. “He has seen many things.”

“Defeat?” Rhiann said.

“Of course,” Taliesin said. “Defeat is always on the horizon. What I fear more, however, is the black hand that attempts to wipe our people from the earth: our language, our culture, our laws … there is no future where that hammer does not fall on us. But if we have the Treasures, he might take our lands from us, but he will never take our hearts.”

Rhiann’s face was pale, and she put her hand on her belly, fearing for her unborn child and what he would face.

“The next four days are critical because I sense my opponent’s power growing. He wants that future to come to pass, and he fears Cade and his crowning.”

“Why?” Rhiann said.

“Because the crowning of a High King becomes a locus of all the powers of the ancients.” Taliesin spoke as if it were obvious. “I despair to think that the old ways are so forgotten that men today think the purpose of naming a High King is to choose a battle leader.” He scoffed.

“Do you think this power will try to disrupt my crowning?” Cade said.

“I’m certain of it,” Taliesin said. “It is why I have not named him and won’t. Not until I’m sure it is really he.”

Cade let out a sharp breath. “You don’t comfort me.”

“Good, since I didn’t mean to.” Taliesin bobbed his head. “I’ve had a vision of what you are facing at Peada’s behest. I’m leaving because, in the vision, I was there instead of elsewhere, and the outcome was—” he paused, searching for the appropriate word, “—undesirable.”

Rhiann and Cade stared at him. It was strange to hear of their tumultuous future standing in a simple corridor.

 “Goodbye for now, my lord. My lady.” Taliesin turned abruptly and strode away from them.

Rhiann tried not to gape at the words he’d left them with, and then caught between horror and disbelief, she looked up at Cade. “What did he mean about
undesirable
? And who is this powerful being he fears so much?
Who has been driving Mabon all this time?
”

“I don’t know. I think Taliesin desperately wants to be wrong, and he fears the power of the name. To speak it would draw our enemy to us.” Cade made a motion with one hand, not dismissing their conversation with Taliesin, but moving on from it. “Now … why is Peada here?”

 “I don’t know what he wants. Taliesin didn’t tell you what future he saw regarding these Mercians either?”

Cade laughed. “Of course not. The man prides himself on being obscure, though he has been more frank with us today than he ever has. That alone should tell us how dangerous the path we walk is. Then again, seeing the future—or many possible futures—is a burden I wouldn’t want to carry. He left because the future he saw when he stayed was worse.”

Rhiann shook her head. “It was clear that going was hardly better.”

Cade reached for Rhiann’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t need Taliesin’s foresight to know what Peada wants. Uncle Penda wants my help. He has reconsidered what I told him on the battlefield at Caer Fawr—that I will not fight at his side—and decided that he cannot take no for an answer. It was only a matter of time before Oswin of Northumbria made another foray into Mercia. Penda defeated the first attempt, but that was due to luck more than skill.”

Rhiann canted her head. “I’ve heard you say that wise men make their own luck.”

“They do.” Cade’s arm came around her as he guided her towards the great hall. “But Peada is here because his father is wise not to think he can rely on luck a second time, and that his luck might have finally run out. I’m thinking that he wants a bit of mine.”

Chapter Three

Dyrnwyn, the flaming sword, lost for centuries beneath the earth.

A hamper that feeds a hundred, a knife to serve twenty-four,

A chariot to carry a man on the wind,

A halter to tame any horse.

The cauldron of the Giant to test the brave,

A whetstone for deadly sharpened swords,

An entertaining chess set,

A crock and a dish, each to fill one’s every wish,

A drinking horn that bestows immortality to those worthy of it,

And the mantle of Arthur.

His healing sword descends;

Our enemies flee our unseen and mighty champion.

―Taliesin,

The Thirteen Treasures of Britain
,

The Black Book of Gwynedd

_________

Taliesin

T
aliesin checked his pack one more time, taking note that it still contained the green cloak he’d worn to Cade and Rhiann’s wedding. The color matched his eyes, and while he might pay later for that bit of vanity, he didn’t leave it behind. Even a seer might need extra warmth on a cold night.

He slung the pack over his shoulder and allowed the side door of the keep to hit his back as it swung gently closed behind him. He stood in the shadow of the wall, testing the currents in the air for the menace that Catrin had spoken of. Now that another had felt it, he knew he couldn’t dismiss it another moment, and his stomach clenched. Though he had been leaving already—he’d told Cade the truth about that—the evil was pushing him out the door, even when he feared what might result from his leaving.

Taliesin had seen desolation overtake the world if he didn’t renew this quest. But that didn’t mean that the immediate danger to Cade was any less significant. Everywhere Taliesin turned he saw carnage, death, and despair. Navigating through his visions along a path that brought the least danger and the best outcome was taxing him to the limits of his ability.

Still, he took in a breath as the sweet evening air wafted through the fort. No evil twisted on the currents. Neither was there a sign of any immediate threat—not even from the Mercian men and horses that filled the courtyard and hall. The kitchen workers would be run off their feet between now and when Cade’s company left for Caer Fawr later this evening. The last thing they needed was more mouths to feed, but Cade would deal with Peada as a king’s son deserved. That task was not beyond him or Rhiann. Of that, Taliesin was sure, even if he was certain of little else. Cade would be faced with equally dangerous allies for as long as he ruled Wales.

Despite the danger that lay ahead and the urgency that pressed on him, telling Taliesin to
get on with it
, his heart lifted. In his mind’s eye, he saw the road beckoning to him once again. He had spent most of the last three months since the battle at Caer Fawr chasing rumors of the Treasures. Back in March, he’d set out with high hopes, but as the weeks of travel had worn on, his failure had begun to weigh on him, to the point that he’d eventually retraced his steps and returned to Dinas Bran. The news that the Treasures had surfaced had spread far and wide, and many men dreamed of the power even one item could bring them. Fortunately, most only knew of the rumors, not of the reality, and more of Taliesin’s time had been spent putting rumor to rest than in actual searching.

Perhaps it was hubris for Taliesin, who could occasionally straddle the divide between the world of the
sidhe
and this one, to set himself this task, but his travels these last months had shown him that the Treasures were in motion. While Cade would become High King with or without the remaining items, the honor would be a hollow one if the Treasures were still in play.

For they wanted to be together, and to gather them under Cade’s dragon banner was worth any cost. Even Taliesin’s life. With only four days left until Cade’s crowning, it was looking more and more like such sacrifice might be necessary.

That was one future Taliesin saw. There were others.

The possible avenues of what might be came to him in a mass of impression, though he could make out individual scenes too. In one thread, he saw Cade putting his sword through Penda’s belly. In another, he saw Goronwy sweeping Catrin into his arms—and the possibility made Taliesin smile. At one time Catrin had fancied him, but Taliesin knew that his path diverged from hers. A dozen other possible futures, all equally likely and unlikely, spread out before him. He’d spoken to Cade and Rhiann of the worst future, but there were many others in which the enemies of the Welsh rolled over Wales like a cart downhill. What faced his people was bad enough even if Cade did succeed in uniting the Treasures. Without them, it would catastrophic.

Initially, Cade had gathered the Treasures to him in order to prevent the child-god, Mabon, from gaining complete power in the world of the
sidhe
. The fact that Cade had succeeded in stopping Mabon didn’t mean the threat was over, however. Mabon still sought power, but Taliesin had seen no sign of him these last months. In fact, he hadn’t seen any sign of any
sidhe
, benevolent, malicious, or otherwise. Even the woods had been devoid of demons. Cade’s war band had killed many monsters in the months before Caer Fawr, but still, their absence was almost more worrying than their presence.

In the lines of the future that continued from this moment, Taliesin saw mostly loss and failure. What made him put one foot in front of the other, however, were those few instances of joy, of laughter, and of genuine happiness. He held onto those visions. It mattered not that they were few and far between. As long as there was hope, he would keep fighting. It went without saying that Cade and his companions felt the same.

Out of thirteen Treasures, they currently had knowledge or possession of seven. Perhaps the most powerful lay beneath Dinas Bran. This was the Cup of Christ, known to the druids as a drinking horn. At one time Taliesin had refused to acknowledge that the horn and the Cup were one and the same, though he saw that truth plainly now. Because of its location, to Taliesin’s mind, it belonged to Cade, and both men were content that it should remain hidden forever. The Christian god—Cade’s god—had combined with Taliesin’s own efforts to hold back the darkness beneath Dinas Bran. He’d meditated long on this fact but had come to no satisfactory conclusion as to the how or why of what had happened in the cavern. His only recourse had been to accept, for now, what was.

Cade also possessed the mantle, which allowed him to walk unharmed under the sun, though it also made him invisible to the mortal eye; Caledfwlch, his healing sword taken from Castle Ddu; Dyrnwyn, the flaming sword Arawn himself had once borne; the knife; the whetstone; and a single chess piece with which Mabon had teased Rhiann. The last of the seven, the cauldron, resided in the caverns beneath Caer Dathyl in the possession of Cade’s cousin, Gwyn. As Gwyn himself had said, he was bound to the cauldron and it to him, and his allegiance was to Cade. Like the cup, Taliesin believed it safe from all comers.

That left six remaining to find: the hamper, the crock, the dish, the halter, the chariot, and the chess set, the gathering of which might be a Herculean task all by itself. Taliesin mocked himself at the thought. He’d lived lifetimes of men, but it seemed that all would rise or fall on this one.

As he’d warned Cade and Rhiann, someone was gathering power to himself. Taliesin hadn’t given Cade the name because names had power—and in this case, naming the god Efnysien would do more than call down his wrath—it would strike fear into the heart of every soul who heard it. Efnysien’s long list of atrocities made the activities of Mabon look positively benign.

“You’re leaving too?” Catrin stepped from behind a post near Dinas Bran’s wicket gate. Peada’s men had moved on, away from the gatehouse towards the stable and barracks, so she and Taliesin were alone.

“I am.”

“I’m coming with you,” Catrin said.

“My dear, you are not—”

“Why would you stop me? You’ve had so much luck all alone that you think repeating the same mistake will bring a different outcome, even at this late hour?”