Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,90

him and you will be cast out. You, and your brother and your sisters – you will be thrown into the outer darkness, never to return!’ Now she could see the outrage building in the boy’s face. ‘Can even Caradoc’s winds blow over a land ruled by Ragnar? Will you stand by and let this happen?’

‘Never!’ Caradoc’s voice changed beyond all recognition. It was no longer the sweet, mellifluous voice of the golden boy; it was a raging, roaring voice that boomed in Branwen’s ears like a hurricane. ‘Never! Never!’

He was no longer a boy. His shape expanded and grew, flowing like clouds as it rose high above the hill, dark as a storm, edged by lightning, roaring like thunder. Branwen threw her hands up over her ears, as the booming of Caradoc’s voice became the crack of a thunderclap loud enough to split the world open. The ground rocked under her feet.

Far, far above her head, she saw a limb of cloud reach beckoning into the north. She turned on teetering legs. Already the far northern horizon had turned dark – as though a range of black mountains had come suddenly into being on the very rim of sight.

Even as she watched, the darkness rose. Like a pack of wolves the storm clouds came racing across the heavens, approaching with an impossible speed, drowning the land under their shadow, devouring the sky.

Branwen heard a harsh croak, distant but strangely loud in her ears. She turned her eyes to the east. The raven monster was still crouched on the burning tower, but staring northwards now, wings unmoving, head down as its red eyes watched the wrath of Caradoc advancing. Then it turned its head to Branwen and she felt Ragnar’s evil will beating on her like a great hammer. She flinched as the malice ate into her brain. Even as she reeled, a bright light sped past her, like a golden thunderbolt streaking into the east. The raven took to the air with a wild cry and turned and hurtled away, pursued by the wild and wilful boy-god of the Shining Ones.

Branwen shook her head, clearing it of the evil that had threatened to infest it. The storm was almost upon them, mighty and magnificent and terrible. While she stood numbed by reverence and dread, the racing edge of the storm curled over Pengwern and with a noise like a thousand hissing snakes, the blizzard struck.

The howling snow came down over the battlefield in an obliterating white blanket, drowning everything that lay beneath. And although the violent snowfall did not strike the hilltop itself, the icy wind that brought it almost took Branwen off her feet.

She could see nothing in the valley save for the rolling clouds and the lashing snow. Above the roar of the snowstorm, she could hear men’s voices crying out in fear. Closer by, Terrwyn neighed loudly as he struggled to his hooves, flicking his tail and turning his head from side to side as though trying to shake off some enchantment. The other horses were getting up, also, as were Branwen’s companions – stumbling and blinking as though ripped from deep sleep to find the world utterly changed about them.

None of the Saxons that lay scattered on the hillside stirred. Caradoc had put a swift end to them, Branwen guessed.

‘By the saints, what has happened here?’ gasped Dera, staggering to Branwen’s side.

‘I called on Caradoc, and he came!’ Branwen shouted above the storm. ‘This is his work.’

‘Such a storm!’ gasped Aberfa. ‘From nowhere, it would seem!’

‘I thought the Shining Ones would not help us?’ asked Iwan, staring at Branwen in amazement. ‘Wasn’t that what you were told?’

‘Rhiannon said that the three that were bound to the land could not help us!’ called Branwen.

‘And Caradoc is not bound to the land!’ laughed Iwan, taking her by the shoulders. ‘Well done, my barbarian princess!’

‘But do not the warriors of the king suffer as badly as do the Saxons?’ asked Banon. ‘Will the blizzard know friend from foe? Who will have the upper hand when Caradoc’s storm has passed over the land?’

‘I do not know,’ said Branwen, holding Iwan’s hands for a moment in hers before turning back to stare down into the whirl of the snowstorm. ‘Would that I could see! Would that I could find Ironfist in all this chaos and bring him to his end.’

‘You shall find him,’ said Rhodri, from behind Branwen. She turned and saw that he was holding Terrwyn’s reins, and that