Wulfnoth came to fetch them early the next day, as he had promised to do. By the time he had arrived, food had already been delivered to the house-door, with the lads having already eaten and stepped outside to wait for him. Hurrying down the steps from the upper part of the Elf-ctiy of Duskenvale, he appeared more stooped, more melancholic than before. His eyes did not have the same light that they did the day before.

  Still half-asleep the lads followed him back up the steps, going higher and farther into the village than they had ever done in prior days. As they walked Cormac had to keep from looking down too often, for fear of falling over the edge. Glancing down at the distant ground half by accident, while he was thinking longingly of his bed, he found himself swallowing without thinking.

  “Do not look down lad, not unless you are prepared,” Wiglaf advised not unkindly as he pressed a hand to the lad’s back in the direction of the largest of the homes of the village of those who continued to reside in the Longwoods.

  Nodding his head several times, Cormac hurried forward thither to the home of Arduinna, turning to his white-bearded friend as he walked just behind Indulf. “Where are Dae and Corin? Have they arrived already?”

  “They were both too tired, from the night before,” Wiglaf informed him earnestly, with a grimace, “Especially Daegan who stayed up far too late and we felt it best to leave her out of this meeting. They might well have left you out of the process of deciding what is to be done, but they wish to hear of what you have seen and all that you know of the wraiths. And I felt it necessary to tell you all that I know.”

  “Good,” Indulf approved at once.

  This drew a consternated glance from the old sorcerer, as he sighed a little sadly for his young friend. The two of them followed directly after him, into the largest of all the houses. A home that was far less green than the rest of the houses, but that appeared grey almost white to the eyes of Cormac, who found it to be decayed in comparison to say the lower houses in this tree village.

  The house was built upon the largest, and mightiest of all the trees in the forest, with the large home dominating almost half of the tree with each of the floors and rooms of this house rounded in nature, as he observed once inside.

  There was a stair-case to his left hand side, with the first floor of the three floors within the building, holding a kitchen, three beds to the left hand side and a kitchen table to the right.

  All the wood was made using the typical red-wood favoured by the Elves, with the floor almost shiny green with the alder-wood stones that they had used to build their once magnificent road with. It was the ceiling that was the most attractive part of the building in this house. The ceiling was a vivid emerald built of the same alder-stones that the floor beneath, the lad’s feet were except it was not simply a green polished surface.

  The tale that was woven in the stones through the use of paint was one that was familiar to Cormac through Glarald who had told him of the accomplishments that Arduinna’s ancestor Brigantius. There was his battle against the Dark Elves, his fall at their hands and the taking up of his bow by his son, who went on to fight side-by-side with Cormac and Roparzh the Reclaimer in the purging of darkness from the shores of Bretwealda.

  The background was blue, the seeming land beneath the exquisitely painted figures brown and green, with the dark shadowy figures of those Elves corrupted by the Death-Queen Hella, all painted in black and in the shadowy parts of the ceiling. With Brigantius emerald haired, tanned skinned and dressed in fine brown-green leather with an emerald cloak thrown about his shoulders. Same with his son, who did however appear considerably younger and slightly stouter it seemed.

  It was Cormac who attracted the eye; dark haired and with grey coloured paint for eyes, a sun for a hauberk and a cloak as white as a cloak, he was grand as the blonde Roparzh the Reclaimer was. Both were bearded, though Roparzh had some grey and a hauberk that appeared dark as the night, and a cloak much the same colour, with golden eyes. Both appeared resolute in the face of the darkness, and marched against the darkness.

  The walls of the house were crafted together to so speak with the magnificent branches of the great gargantuan ash-wood tree upon which the house rested upon. The decaying branches caught Cormac’s eyes once more, so that he hesitated just behind his companions when climbing up the stairs after them.

  The second floor was not empty of all people as the first one was, and was to all appearances grander, with the ceiling of this floor depicting a very different scene. One that Glarald had hinted at; that of Vulkuilar the dark-green haired father of Arduinna as he was later told, this man was shown fighting against the Dark Elves, and their Unliving and monster slaves from the Second Wars of Darkness.

  All cast out from the shores of Bretwealda with the aid of all those who lived upon the shores of the Lairdly-Isle; the eight kings of the lands that later became Brittia, the eleven kings of Cymru, four from Ergyng, one of Saesonia, the king of Norwend, the monarch of F?reyar and of course High-King Achaius. Most of the kings were either dark of hair or bright-haired; with the red-haired great king the tallest and mightiest of all the kings at hand. It was he who led the liberation of the southern lands, from the attempted conquest of the Lairdly-Isle.

  It was also he, who fought back against the ‘Mazoku-King’ the winged Gorthrax, destroying him, with his mighty long-sword Lasairsaorsa the ‘Flame of Liberty’ as its smith, Vreylan the Dwarf dubbed it. Giving chase from the shores of the isle, Achaius was to wage war upon the dark Fratriarch that is to say one of the generals of the Dark Elves over in Gallia. This latter tale was not depicted on the tapestry that had been carved into the ceiling but was one of Cormac’s favourite parts of the history of the Caleds.

  Though the walls were crafted together by the tightly woven together branches of the tree just as the lower floor’s walls were, these ones though were decorated with a series of exquisitely woven tapestries.

  Some depicted scenes such as the banishment of Mythandralius the Disgraced’s fall from his position as chieftain, with his brother shown as a radiant figure of light. The reigns of the following chieftains appeared with his son Vulkuilar tenderly holding the wounded chieftain in the wars of darkness upon one of the tapestries.

  Some of the green haired and eyed figures appeared almost to blur together with only the brown haired and eyed armoured figure of Galanvalthan visibly different from the rest.

  These tapestries depicting the mighty deeds and the downfall of each member of Arduinna’s forefathers and kinsmen appeared to almost encircle those who stood upon the second floor of her home. There were a dozen emerald alder-wood chairs placed in a semi-circle with their backs to the stairs to the rear of the large room, with the next set of stairs those that brought one upwards to the third-floor next to the first ones.

  The chairs though were not all occupied, though a good number were. To the left-hand side three were occupied by the trio of figures Cormac had seen the night before, at the festival. The bearded men who bore a slight resemblance to one another, with the elder of the two greying and the younger almost brighter-haired despite his dusky hair and beard, with the old crone seated to the right of them, smiling serenely.

  Across from them, seated upon three other chairs were a blonde-haired man nearer to Cormac’s mother’s age than his own, a few strands of grey in his long, thick mane. Bearded, he wore his beard in a short manner and was dressed in a white hauberk, with a bear-fur cloak about his shoulders with a dragon-shaped brooch pinning his cloak together. He was slender and had an air of good-natured humour about his person, a marked contrast to one of the two men to either side of him.

  The two were very apparently siblings; though he had little experience with Tigruns even Cormac could tell that these two were brothers. The taller of the two was robed in dark-red silk, with a long staff that ended in a claw holding a blue crystal at the summit of it, leaning against his left shoulder. His eyes were dark brown, and hair was neatly tied together in a braid and had been thrown over his right shoulder.

  His shorter brother, was dressed in a dark hauberk, had left his hair untamed with it trailing down his back, and was every bit as dark as the mane of hair his brother had. His chin though had a slight beard unlike his sibling, though like him he was tall, had a splash of white on his neck with this splash trailing down his chest, with his back and most of his head orange with black spots here and there. His own travel-cloak was unpinned from around his shoulders and laid out over the back of his chair. And where his brother wore a solemn expression on his face, this one appeared easily amused.

  Seated just a little past them was Bardulf, who offered up a small wave of his right hand. His expression was stoic, his gesture served to reassure the simple-natured Cormac, who was amazed to find that Arduinna was absent.

  Observing all of this with awe, and those seated together all of them whispering between themselves, without interacting between one another. At Wiglaf’s approach, the Tigrun sorcerer on the right-hand side silenced those he sat with, he stood then with a bow to the old man.

  “Master Wiglaf, it is an honour to see you once again,” He said in a respectful if lyrical voice, his dark brows puckered together.

  Several others such as Bardulf and the other Tigrun stood up to greet the old man, with those seated to the left doing much the same. Seeing the respect given out to the old man moved Cormac so that he grew to regard his friend with a great deal more esteem.

  Wiglaf took up the chair next to the Tigrun whom he addressed, “Thank you Ronald, I am glad to see you here; I had thought that you had joined Thorsteinn the Raven in F?reyar, to investigate his links to the lady Modron.”

  *****

  “I shall answer that question if you like Master, when the lady Arduinna has joined us,” He replied with a hint of awkwardness in his voice. Evidently he was uncomfortable with refusing the old man, the slightest thing for which the man in question gripped his shoulder warmly.

  “No need to worry, my friend, and how is your Master Findralan?” Wiglaf queried speaking the name with an eagerness that startled Cormac. He sounded almost young, as though he were filled with admiration for this ‘Findralan’, curious he took up the seat to the left of his friend, with Indulf to his own left.

  Wiglaf chattered for a short time with the Tigrun Ronald, who disdained the two humans next to the old sorcerer. The moment the Cymran seated himself the rest of those around him re-seated themselves, with an expectant series of faces. The first of them, who adopted a different expression after a few minutes, was Bardulf who appeared to grimace with disgust after a few minutes. Startled by this change, since he had been looking from one person to the next, in the hopes that someone might explain to him who or what they were waiting for.

  Bewildered, he exchanged a glance with the equally startled Indulf. The situation was clarified by the arrival of a huffing, puffing figure that crossed into the room from the first floor’s staircase. Cormac was amazed and a little frightened to discover of all things near the back of the room, a Bairaz.

  Pig-snouted with pig ears on the top of his head, without any hair save for his dark eyebrows, he stood near to six-feet tall and was dressed in a dark-green hauberk, chainmail and greaves. His tunic that was thrown over his hauberk was dark green also, with a lighter-green boar. Consternated, the Bairaz hurried over to the young man in green’s side, scolding him as he spoke, “Prince Lyr, what were you thinking to leave without me?”

  The accent with which he spoke was distinct, the dialect one that Cormac was not entirely able to place with the prince in question, the younger of the two men with the clover-brooches answering in much the same accent and dialect. “Oh do not worry so much Connor.”

  “But I swore to your father, to ensure you made it back to him safely,” Persisted Connor the Bairaz stubbornly much to the exasperated amusement of his charge.

  Unsure of what to make of the sight of a pig-man worrying about a human, especially after all the tales that he had heard regarding the Bairaz-people, who had been said to have been corrupted by the Dark Elves, and later corrupted into the service of the Warlock-King of Amadan. Cormac gaped at him, not knowing what to say or do in response.

  So fixated was he upon the complaining deep-voiced pig, and the grimace that had twisted the face of Bardulf that he failed to take notice at first of the quiet arrival of the three Elf-ladies.

  Moving gracefully in the manner of a tigress or lioness, Arduinna moved down the stairs from the third floor ere she advanced around the circle to take up position next to Bardulf, with her short-haired daughter circling around those to the left to take up the seat to her left. Her longer-haired daughter took up the seat next to Bardulf with a small genial smile to Ronald’s brother who returned her smile.

  Arduinna did not at once speak up, but rather waited until they had all quieted and turned to her to speak up, respectfully to each of them. “Welcome, friends it is a pleasure to see that each of you arrived here in the halls of my home in what your peoples know as the Longwoods.”

  A respectful silence followed, whereupon she spoke up with genuine warmth her beautiful emerald eyes aglow, capturing Cormac’s attention so that he became as entranced by her, as Trygve had been by Alette. “I will not belabour the purpose of this meeting, for we have much to speak of. Little of it joyous, therefore upon that note I ask you Wiglaf, to tell us of the threat that now looms over us all, for those not yet informed of the great darkness that looms over us all.”

  Wiglaf smiled back to her, standing up as she seated herself his gaze soft with a small smile one that twisted itself into a frown in the moments that followed. “I will begin from after I departed from Glasvhail, which as all should be aware was when the first wraith attacks took place. The first was upon one of Cormac’s friends, ere they then went on to strike out against a wood-cutter who at the time I did not understand the reason behind the attack.”

  He paused with Indulf visibly affected by his reference to Inga, with Cormac squeezing his arm in support, which won him a wan smile from the older lad. “Few remember that it was Graeme the woodcutter who a dozen years ago was the one who helped Murchadh in the repairing of his father, Waltigon’s boat.”

  This was information that Cormac himself had forgotten, with Wiglaf continuing on. “This detail escaped me, with the significance of it of negligible value though it ought to show the spite and cruelty behind he who controls the wraiths. It was only after I left Glasvhail for the Tower of the Wise, where Shaltair one of the greatest of my Order aided in the sifting through of the vast libraries we have. It was during my stay there, we discovered the nature of the evil that has invaded the lands of Gallia, Bretwealda and Antillia!” He paused now, to take a pull from the gourd girded to his belt.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Once he had drunk a little, he resumed his tale. “It was during my stay in the great Tower that Shaltair revealed to me the truth that for centuries there was a dark figure who manipulated much of the history of Gallia. It was he who sought to bring the Faramondians over in those lands to power, ere his plans became known to the legendary Pépin the Long he determined to seize the throne which he did. After his and that decades later of his remarkable son Aemiliemagne, this dark figure sought to corrupt and subvert the empire he had built up.

  The heartlands of his kingdom became fractured into the ‘Twelve Kingdoms’, with this a time of immense tragedies and sorrow and anarchy. As he corrupted all to darkness, he searched endlessly for the Blood-Gem, for this figure dreamt of the power it could provide him.

  This creature of deepest spite was known as Romus the Dark, he was the last senator of Roma, comrade to the mad Emperor of Agenor and traitor to many. He was in life a formidable figure, cursed by the Princeps Vaurelianus with the shape of a man, which was the origin of his hate for men. It was in the previous century that he after nigh on a millennia of being denied his true shape that he created the wraiths who sought to put an end to my dear friends.

  It was after he had collected for himself thirteen mighty supporters and gradually- for he was ever a patient sort, being immortal, turned them into Unliving beasts the likes of which this world has never before seen. He bound them to his will through what he termed the ‘Crown of Power’, through which he could control the wraiths with. It was shortly after the crown’s creation that he was freed from his imprisoning flesh. How he accomplished this? You may well ask, for neither Shaltair nor myself, were able to discover the method by which he achieved freedom to reclaim his dragon-form.”

  It was at this time, in the tale that the Bairaz Connor burst out, unable to contain his shock, “A dragon!?” He then added with a disdainful shake of his head, “When have those accursed lizards ever done us any good? Why my people, have long spoken of how it might be best to hunt them all down!”

  “Then your people are all fools,” Bardulf countered heatedly, which drew a piggish snort from Connor not that the Wolfram listened to his response, for he continued. “I have found that many of the wisest of folks in this world happen to be dragon. Like men and some of the Elves or even we Wolframs, the foulest of their breed ruin the reputation of those who are good and true. For people love to speak of the evil wrought by others, and rarely if ever remember all the good that they have wrought.”

  Connor opened his mouth to contest the hero’s wise words when Lyr spoke up with an impatient wave of his hand, “We can sit here in this hall contesting with one another endlessly, yet it will avail us naught. I would prefer to hear more of Wiglaf’s tale, for I had thought that this Romus the Dragon had perished decades ago in Gallia, shortly before the foundation of that particular kingdom.”

  Coughing a little, Wiglaf cleared his throat, only to continue his tale with a smile in the direction of the prince, “I thank you for your words, wise Lyr. You make your father Bradán proud; I see that you have inherited not only his wisdom and ability for listening to the counsel of others to their fullness but also that of your mother.”

  At these words Lyr turned bright red, yet there was a pleased expression on his face. With the sorcerer remarking after this compliment, “As to Romus it is indeed true that once he had his proper shape, and once his vast schemes to shatter the kingdoms and sacrifice all the souls and lives there in a vain attempt to ascend to godhood, for he believed he could channel souls into actual energy. He failed and unable to stomach this humiliation, he sought to slay those responsible for exposing his plans and countering a great many of them.

  He did however underestimate the noble Duke of Manarvon, that great knight and hero of the kingdom of Gallia, who bears the same name as the creator of the Blood-Gem, and who bore then the incomparable golden-sword of Bravoure. Slain in that battle which claimed many lives, including those of Shaltair’s master, several of his other apprentices, three other full-trained magii and dozens of knights, it was the belief of the survivors that Romus’s legacy had died with him.”

  None spoke for a time, ere Wiglaf drank once more only to continue, “Not long thereafter in the peninsula of Parmenia, Romus’s apprentice laid claim to the title that his master had once worn if in the shadows; that of Dark Lord. This apprentice was a mysterious figure of whom we know precious little, but it appears that he began life thirsty for justice against those who had previously wronged his people, the Gargans.

  Those bat-winged hideous people, who have long claimed for themselves in some parts the title of ‘guardians of the night’ and whom have been at times persecuted at others, revered as a buckler against darkness. One of them, this apprentice of the Dark Lord was named Gargath, and he was defeated nigh on a decade after his master by a group of heroes led by the noble Otto of Volkholant.

  Gargath though wielded at this time considerable power, and had raised about himself a massive army, with which he had used to repel the armies of the Empire of Theodosianople that had previously laid claim to the south of Parmenia. He had invited the Norleans, into his lands whereupon they had helped to oppress the locals only to turn upon him when promised his wealth by the rebels. They stormed the Tower he had created, and that he had deformed with his great power, which now bears his name as the dark Tower of Gargath. It was believed that he had perished at the hands of Otto, but as he disappeared in a sea of flames and no corpse was recovered, many remained suspicious.”

  *****

  When at last Wiglaf finished his tale, he was challenged by the princely if slender figure who sat between Ronald and the other Tigrun. “Wiglaf, do you mean to tell us that this Gargath has somehow found the Crown of Power and that it is he who commands the wraiths now?”

  “What proof do you have that this Gargath still lives? After fifty years he must have passed on!” Prince Lyr spoke out incredulously.

  Wiglaf answered confidently, “We have it on good authority; for the usage of the Blood-Gem shan’t be done without many feeling the great power contained within it. The Dark Lord apparently utilised it some four years ago, upon the isle of Antillia which he had escaped to after his battle with Otton, wounded he somehow survived.”

  “What did he use the Blood-Gem for?” Bardulf asked intrigued and cautious as always.

  “That I do not know, Arndryck the Golden who was the one who detected the Dark Lord when he had turned to the gem, whereupon he had warned the Order of his concerns. For reasons that escape me, the one he reported to did not alert the Conclave who head the Order, with this traitor having disappeared shortly thereafter.

  This only recently became known to us, when Shaltair sought to consult with the gold-dragon. It was also at this time that the gem was placed into its container, with Murchadh stealing it away.” Wiglaf explained morbidly, face grave as his eyes circled from one person to the next ere he added. “Unfortunately for poor Murchadh though, having inherited the Crown of Power from his master, Gargath commanded the wraiths to give chase after him, whereupon they mortally wounded him just before he left the Misty-Island.”

  This explanation was one that helped to put into context much of what his father had told them with his last breaths. It filled Cormac though with a strong sense of outrage and anger, against this wicked Gargath, for his multiplicity of crimes.

  The monstrosity of the Gargan made him tremble, and almost froth with rage as Indulf had once done in the face of the thought of the murderer of Inga going free.

  So lost was he in his passionate rage that he came near to not hearing Wiglaf addressing him now, “I turn the tale now to my good friend, Cormac MacMurchadh.”

  “Pardon?” Cormac queried filled with a sudden feeling of nervousness as he forgot his previous anger.

  “Well go on man; tell them of your adventures!” Wiglaf exploded impatiently.

  Swallowing, at the sight of all the eyes of those of the highest stations in almost as many nations as there were people present at hand there around him, Cormac found that he could not help but stammer a little. He had many a false starts, ere Bardulf intervened in a kindly manner, “Be at ease Cormac, we understand how timidity can freeze even the worst of tongues. Simply tell us what you and Indulf observed.”

  Encouraged, and deciding to focus upon the Wolfram, Cormac accompanied by his mother’s friend journeyed to the past in their thoughts as in their words. The two recounted all that they had observed, with their audience a good one, who gasped and muttered much praise at their befriending of Alette. They wore dark frowns when the two reached the part with the man-eaters, from there they reached the Dancing Buck, thereon Bardulf rose to aid them in the recounting of the tale, much to their red-cheeked relief.

  Once they reached the point of the story when they stood upon the Great Mound, the tale now turned towards a subject that Cormac truly felt all the more uncomfortable towards; what he had observed during his days of rest. It was Arduinna who insisted on this point saying to him, “Now that we know how you came to stand upon the Great Mound of Griogair, we would have you tell us of what it is that you saw when engulfed by the shadows of the wraith-captain’s cloak.”

  “The Kingwraith, if you will lady Arduinna,” Wiglaf corrected softly.

  “Pardon, Master Wiglaf?”

  “He is known as the Kingwraith, and he is attended upon by the eleven Knightwraiths, I should have remembered to speak of the name they have been given and taken up for themselves according to Master Shaltair.” Said Wiglaf apologetically drawing grim frowns and muttered curses beneath the breaths of all those around him.

  Taking this time to formulate his thoughts, Cormac would have preferred to not tell them all he had observed, during his slumber. The steadfastness and trust that lay in the eyes of Arduinna, Bardulf and Wiglaf served to encourage him to speak of the pits of darkness, of the rotting Queen and of the coldness of her realm. He spoke also of the rotted kingly figures of shadows that he had seen in the next vision, one that made him shiver and shudder still with fright.

  By the time he finished speaking those around him, had adopted dark miens with each of them grim-faced and worried about the meaning behind his words.

  The next person who spoke was the prince who had the same sort of accent when he spoke the Caled tongue as Wiglaf, “What is this talk of half-rotted Queens, of liquid flames and of dark thrones? I thought it was a Gargan and his wraith servants that are our enemies.”

  “Prince Colwyn they are, however if you were to recall back to the age before ours, that of the Second Wars of Darkness, it is said that Hella summoned forth corpses to serve her mortal servants and to aid in much of the destruction of Pangaea.” Bardulf said reminding him of the ancient knowledge passed down by the Temple and many others, regarding the events of that terrible conflict between the folks of the world against the tide of evil unleashed by Queen Hella.

  “But I had thought all the Unliving were cast out,” Colwyn argued bewildered. “Do you mean to tell me that she was not wholly defeated?”

  His assumptions were ones that even Cormac had once made, though in recent days he had realized that this was certainly not the case. Looking from the prince from the distant south, to the sorcerer who answered the prince’s words with a heaviness that was shared by all present, who realized the significance of all that the Caled had seen.

  “My prince, the darkness can never be utterly conquered, save for upon the last day. All that we can do is cast it back and struggle to keep it at bay. As much in our own hearts as we do in the world not within us,” Said Wiglaf sternly to his friend who subsided into dark musings of his own, visibly depressed by his words.

  “Thank you Master Wiglaf, and you also Cormac, Indulf, you have all given us much to ponder about with your tales, we shall adjourn for now and reconvene after we have all eaten.” Arduinna decided, “We have prepared a small feast for each of you, in all your homes I will consult now with my daughters.”

  *****

  The lunch that was served was one of sparrow-meat with a side-dish of cornbread, and carrots the last of whom had been boiled in a cauldron, ere it was served to the youths. Sharing their lunch with Wiglaf, they ate in silence, with the sorcerer when they had finished their meal leading them back.

  Thereon the second floor of the home of Arduinna, they resumed their seats, with not everyone seated in the exact same ones as before. With Cormac seated next to Bardulf and Indulf on his other side, with Arduinna surrounded by her daughters, and everyone else seated in the same positions, with Wiglaf to the right of the long-haired daughter of Arduinna.

  It was now the turn of Colwyn to address the people assembled, this he did with a remarkable amount of eloquence, as he stood with a great deal of humour that pleased those from ériu. “If you will permit my fair friends drawn from all the corners of the fairest isles the gods ever put out to sea, I will tell my tale in a rather less haphazardous manner than old Wiglaf here. For though, I am not the Pardiff or minstrel that my friends Fergus,”

  He signalled to the brother of Ronald who sat to his right, “or prince Lyr or even his great-uncle Meallán, I will strive to tell what has happened in as musical a manner as possible. As is custom among my people, of Gwyneira.”

  “Do get on with it man,” Connor grunted impatiently, with a sigh of impatience.

  “Let the man speak, pig,” Bardulf snapped back.

  Connor appeared as though he might object, but the prince of the lands he hearkened from intervened with a warning glance to both of them, “Do go on prince Colwyn.”

  It was then that the prince took up the tale of his own lands, and though he had had many a adventures such as that of which he had earned Cormac’s admiration and awe, which involved his stealing of the castle of Gwyneira.

  He recited his tale not pompously, but rather lyrically as befits one from the land of Cymru and most notably Gwyneira, which some had dubbed ‘The City of Songs’. “It was upon the Imbolc festival when they of deepest darkness rode into my lands. Assembled in my halls, were my fair wife the sister of Maelgwn the Tyrant, the lady Eirwen along with my uncle Madoc, now aged I am regretful to recount, we had also my friends Maldwyn and Owain therewith us.

  We had just in the sacred manner of the festival of the most golden of goddesses,” At this the old crone who sat a short distance from those of ériu snorted and raised a brow, Colwyn ignored her while a great many of those around them scolded her with their eyes.

  “The beer as any who know the Imbolc’s sacred ways knows, is made from local grapes, crushed and brewed by our local brewers thereupon it is given to the local laird who must at once return it to the people. We had just completed the returning of this sacred beer, when that foulest of foul beasts, that terrible wraith ventured into my halls.

  The door was open as you might imagine, as we had no reason to expect violence or such an invasion into our home. For invasion this indeed appeared to those of us, who were in the midst of merry-making in the halls of the ancient princes of Gwyneira. The wraith that came to us, was horrible to look upon, and hissed and screeched as might one of the banshees I have had the misfortune of meeting upon the Isle of Wights between the Emerald Isle and Cymru.

  His was an evil nature, this we could see from simply looking upon his hauberk which bore upon it a broken scale. Naturally, those of us of a more pious nature knew at once that this dark mockery of the most holy of the gods’ symbol was not to be trusted or parlayed with. Still though, we could no more engage in violence or bloodshed else we might desecrate the festival.”

  It was here that the prince of Gwyneira paused. The reaction from those around him was one of transfixed awe. For Wiglaf had spoken capably, but not as magically as the spell which Colwyn wove or that which Wulfnoth might have, with Cormac of a mind that only Daegan or Bardulf could have spoken so eloquently. It was then that he ceased to question how the prince had tricked a prince out of his own castle, for to listen to the prince-bard was to listen to charm personified.

  “Well, what happened then?” Connor asked transfixed, prompting him eagerly with no one snapping at him for a lack of patience, not even Bardulf.

  Colwyn smiled, aware of the effect he had had upon them.

  “When she beheld him, my uncle’s wife swooned and she is by no means a woman of faint-spirit, for I have seen her stare down Maelgwn when he had bared steel near to her neck. Even my good friend Owain swooned, if only a little, with Eirwen frozen and crying next to me. I am not in the least the sort of man to be scared easily, yet I trembled as I addressed the wraith, ‘why have you come dark-rider?’ I asked of him.

  To which he answered in his hissing, screeching voice, ‘I am come hither to your vast halls o prince of Gwyneira in search of your favour and to warn you; do not make common cause with Bradán of ériu. Else… it shall be the last folly you and yours engage in.’

  At these words, my son bold young Gwydion leapt to his feet to shout at him- I shall be the first to say that though I feared for him, no father has ever been prouder, or more blessed to have such a worthy heir than my own humble self. ‘Begone Unliving one! We will have naught to do with one such as yourself! We shall never engage with those who may wish our friends in ériu harm. We will not make common cause with your master, or with you, especially with a messenger who claims to come hither with pleasant words one moment, only to resort to thinly-veiled threats in the next instant!’

  I must confess that I almost wept with pride, my friends! I was upon my own feet myself, wherefore I ordered that dark wraith from my halls, thereon he replied, ‘I have warned thee, hereafter you shall only have yourselves to blame o foolish lairds of Gwyneira. When next I return hither, it shall be with flame and steel!’

  It is for this reason that when Ronald arrived to inform me of this meeting- the first in centuries to have been held in your illustrious halls, o heiress of Brigantius and chieftain of the eldest of the children whelped by Bretwealda!”

  At last Colwyn ended his dark tale of the ruined harvest-festival of the spring, passed down in his lands and those of all peoples who belonged to the érian branch of the Quirinian faith. Silence ruled and shadows licked away all the more, at the little hope and light in the hall that was provided by the twin torches to either side of the hall.