Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,96

riders came bursting from the ruined and charred gateway, and Branwen saw the gallant standard of the king being carried along with them.

The blizzard had doused the flames, and of the evil black raven and the golden boy-god there was no sign. Whether Caradoc had brought Ragnar to his doom, or whether the hellion of the Saxons had escaped, Branwen could not know.

She lifted the marvellous sword up in front of her eyes. There was no blood upon its burnished blade, and as she looked closely she saw her reflection staring back at her from the slender strip of metal, as clear as if she was looking into still water. She gazed mesmerized into her own eyes, hardly recognizing herself – hardly able to believe that she was looking into the face of Branwen ap Griffith.

She heard a snort and the thud of hooves close by. She broke free of the enchantment of the sword and turned as Terrwyn thrust this heavy head against her shoulder. She slipped the sword into her belt and threw her arms around the horse’s wide neck, pressing her face into his coat for a moment of comfort.

‘I thought you were dead,’ she murmured. ‘I thought the whole world was dead.’

She was still pressed up against Terrwyn’s soft hide when other hoofbeats sounded and joyful voices called out to her.

‘You are alive!’

Yes. I am alive. It is strange and I cannot quite believe it – but I am alive!

‘Beyond all hopes, Branwen! Beyond all hope!’

‘And see – the great general is dead!’

Branwen turned, smiling as the Gwyn Braw leaped down from their horses and threw themselves upon her with wild delight. As she embraced them, she saw Rhodri standing slightly apart, smiling, too, but with a deep sadness in his eyes.

‘I knew you would not come to harm,’ said Iwan, his eyes shining as he looked at her. ‘Fate could not be so cruel!’

‘Fate can be cruel enough, Iwan,’ she said, pushing past her friends and going to stand in front of Rhodri. For a brief time they looked silently into one another’s eyes. “I would give my life if it would restore Blodwedd to you,’ she murmured at last, for his ears only. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘Can you love me still, Rhodri, after what I did?’

His eyes glimmered with unshed tears. ‘Would I lose my dearest friend as well as my true love?’ he whispered, his voice cracking. ‘No, be sure, Branwen – our lives are bound together a while longer yet.’

‘I called on Caliburn, as you said I should – and it came to me,’ she told him, sliding the silken sword from her belt and showing it to him. ‘Where does it come from, Rhodri? What is it?’

He frowned. ‘I cannot tell you,’ he said. ‘But it is not yours, Branwen. It belongs to another.’

‘Ahh. So this is the sword that Blodwedd spoke of. I thought it was so, but I could not be sure. It belongs to the other Chosen One – the boy. Must I take it to him now? Do you know where I might find him?’

‘All things in their right time,’ said Rhodri, gazing out past her shoulder. ‘The king of Powys comes – you should speak with him, I think.’

Branwen narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, I shall do that, Rhodri! I shall certainly do that!’ She turned, her face tight with anger. Several riders were approaching. Above them flew the king’s standard.

She searched the faces of the mounted warriors, puzzled not to see Cynon among them. Prince Drustan she recognized, and Dagonet ap Wadu, and other captains of Pengwern and warriors of Dyfed, Gwynedd and Gwent. But of the king, she saw no trace.

The horses were reined up and Drustan dismounted. There was blood on his face and his cloak was torn, but he seemed otherwise unhurt.

‘My people quailed when the fireball came blazing across the sky towards us,’ he called, his eyes bright and eager as he strode towards her through the snow. ‘But I saw how it dismayed that great black bird of ill omen. I saw how the demon of the Saxons fled before it! And I knew in my heart that you had returned to us, Princess Branwen.’ He glanced around them. ‘And this unimaginable snowstorm – that was your doing also, I am sure.’ He shook his head. ‘A powerful shaman, you are, Princess. You command formidable sorceries, indeed. I understand now why my father feared you, although I think he