Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,31
been dreading the thought of having her as his wife! Not that she should be surprised at that. He must have heard many tales of her exploits over the past few months; and what boy in his right wits would want to be tied to a half-crazed shaman girl who worshipped demons?
All the same, it was a shock to see Hywel again like this, and to be made so acutely aware that he wanted their marriage even less than she did. And to think that he had grown up so courteous and handsome, too!
The tricks that fate plays! If not for her encounter with Rhiannon of the Spring in the high passes of the mountains, she might by now be wed to Hywel ap Murig.
How different her life could have been.
She could be far from here, safe and secure in the deep south, protected by fortified walls and by the loving kindness of her new family. Wandering the halls of her new home, dressed in fine silk, her hair styled into intricate loops and coils, woven with jewels.
She smiled, knowing herself – knowing how she would have chafed and railed at such a life. She knew who she was! Branwen of the Shining Ones – Destiny’s Sword! The Emerald Flame! The Bright Blade of Powys!
She thrust out her hand to Hywel and he gripped it in some surprise.
‘I’m glad you’ve found a more suitable wife,’ she said. ‘My blessings on your union, Hywel ap Murig! All happiness be with you.’ She looked at the king. The smile was gone from Cynon’s face. Branwen guessed he had been looking forward to watching her squirm. In that at least, she was pleased to disappoint him. ‘Is there anything else you would wish of me, my lord?’ she asked. ‘I am yours to command, but my folk are weary from our travels in your service, and I’d have them retire for the night, if it please you.’
‘It pleases me,’ the king said with a casual wave of his hand, and he turned to Captain Angor, seated at his side, as though continuing a conversation that her arrival had interrupted.
As she turned to leave, she saw Angor look at her with hard, amused eyes and with a sardonic smile on his lips.
Like that cat that’s had the cream, she thought as she walked back down the hall to be with her companions. That cannot bode well for me and mine. All the same, if he has ill plans for us, we’ll doubtless learn of it in good time. Or bad time, more likely!
CHAPTER TEN
A strange dream. Not terrible or daunting – but somehow full of a significance that Branwen could not quite grasp.
She was alone in a wide field of deep, untrodden snow. It was daytime, although the clouded sky was the colour of beaten iron and the air was brittle and grainy. She turned round, hoping to see something to show her where she was. But there was nothing. Not even a trail of footsteps in the snow to reveal how she had come to this place.
A distant sound made her start. A dark shape was moving towards her across the snow. It had come out of nowhere, kicking up great spouts and jets of whiteness as it ambled forwards.
A bear!
Some twenty paces from her, the bear came to a halt, its dark eyes staring straight into hers, wild and dangerous and brimming with an unknowable intelligence. Branwen found herself calling out to the great silent creature.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded shrill. ‘Are you going to eat me?’
The bear reared up on its thick back legs and let out a shivering roar.
Branwen fell to her knees in the crisp snow, her ears full of the noise, her eyes fixed on the mighty animal.
And then, the bear began to shrink and dwindle, like tallow in a fire. Its contours melted and changed and suddenly it wasn’t a bear at all – it was the goraig-creature that Branwen had met in a previous dream.
‘Nixie?’ she called, scrambling to her feet.
The slender silvery creature danced across the snow, leaving no trace of her passing on the surface. Her dress floated about her delicate limbs like water spray, her hair as white as moonlight.
‘I am she,’ called the goraig in her high, clear voice. ‘And I am come again to tell you two things of great import.’
When last she had dreamed of the goraig, Branwen had been gifted her white shield. Shortly afterwards, Blodwedd had