“Be done with him. We are leaving this place.”
“Let me speak to him alone first. It may be that he is already sorry for his error.”
“Very well, talk to him,” snapped Elphin. “And while you are talking, I will make ready to move on. It is clear we are no longer welcome here.”
The horses clattered from the courtyard and Taliesin returned to the hall. He entered the corridor leading to the hall and glimpsed a movement in the shadows beside him. He stopped and called, “Come out, friend, and let us speak face to face.”
A moment later the long, elegant form of Annubi stepped forth. Taliesin had seen Avallach’s advisor before, but only briefly and at a distance. Now that he was near, however, Taliesin was struck by the strangeness of the man: the deathly pallor of his flesh, the slack mouth, the flat, gray eyes and rotten wisps of hair. The seer moved toward him, and the shadows seemed to deepen and move with him so that he was surrounded by darkness.
“A word, lord,” sighed Annubi. He was very close now, and Taliesin caught the scent of rank dissolution as the seer exhaled.
“You are Avallach’s advisor,” said Taliesin.
“I was… once. But no longer.” The seer watched him with his dead eyes. “I lost my sight and so lost my voice.”
Taliesin shifted under that grim, unsettling gaze. “How can I serve you?”
“Leave us,” hissed Annubi. “Your father is right-you are no longer welcome here. Leave and do not return.”
“Why? Why do you want us to leave?”
“Avallach speaks of alliances and futures… Bah! Dreams! Delusions! There is no future for us. We belong to a world that is gone and can never return.”
“Perhaps,” said Taliesin. “Times change, the world changes. It is the way of things. But,” he indicated the palace with a gesture, “you have not done so badly here.”
“What you see around you is an illusion. It is nothing less than nothing!” He gripped Taliesin’s shoulder with a long-fingered hand. “We are the echo of a voice that has died. And soon the echo will cease as well.”
Taliesin reached up to remove the seer’s hand and felt the bones beneath the sallow skin of his wrists. “But it has not ceased. Nor will it as long as there are those who hear.” He continued along the corridor.
Annubi did not follow but shrank back into the shadows. “We are dying,” he moaned, and the darkness of the corridor moaned with him. “Leave and let us die in peace!”
The seneschal ushered Taliesin into the inner chamber once more. Belyn was gone, but Maildun and Avallach were still there. Both men turned as Taliesin entered; Maildun frowned openly, but Avallach forced a smile. “Ah, Taliesin. Will you share wine with us?” He poured a cup and handed it to Taliesin.
“My father has told me of your prowess as a singer,” remarked Maildun. “It is a pity that I will never hear you.” The haughty smirk was back on his face.
“You of all men must understand,” Taliesin said. “My father would be less than a king if he ignored open insults to himself and his people.”
“So an alliance with us is an insult, is it?” demanded Maildun hotly. Avallach’s eyes narrowed.
“You see how easily meanings can be lost?” said Taliesin.
“I understood perfectly!” said Maildun, slamming down his cup.
“Did you?” Taliesin faced him. “Then I was wrong to return here.”
“Wait!” Avallach stepped forward. “I think I understand-or begin to. Stay, Taliesin; we will talk.”
“Why do you persist in talking to these people?” cried Maildun angrily. “Every hand is against us, Father. If we are to survive it will be by the sword. Understand that!”
“Leave us, Maildun,” Avallach said softly. “I will speak to Taliesin.”
The prince again slammed down his cup; wine sloshed onto the stones at his~feet, deep and red as blood. Avallach refilled his own cup and motioned Taliesin to a chair as Mail-dun departed. “My son is an impatient man,” said Avallach. “I was like him once. He wants what he cannot have and has what he does not want. It is difficult.” The Fisher King moved to a chair and settled himself with utmost care. “Sit, Taliesin.”
The bard took the seat drawn up beside him. “Your wound grieves you, Lord Avallach?”
“Alas, yes, it is beginning again,” sighed Avallach. “It comes and goes.”
“A most unusual malady,” sympathized Taliesin.
“Indeed,” agreed Avallach. “And the only cure to avail me is to have the priest Dafyd near.”
“I too have felt the power of the priest-more precisely, the power of the God he serves. Perhaps if you were to swear loyalty to the Supreme Lord, the Christ” began Taliesin, the light leaping up in his eyes.
“Oh, but I have,” said Avallach. “I have so sworn and have received the baptism of water in my own lake. As for me, so for my household. That is the way of our race. Still, the Most High has not deemed it suitable to heal my affliction. Perhaps, as Dafyd suggests, it is to teach me humility. I admit there is much I do not know about this new God.”
Avallach sipped his wine pensively and then looked up, grinning happily. “An odd thing, is it not? Strangers from diiferent worlds, united by belief in the same God. Therefore, let us put misunderstandings behind us.” He threw aside the cup as if it had been the source of the trouble between them.
“Well said, Lord Avallach,” replied Taliesin. “I am certain that you intend no affront with your words. But you should know that your offer, however generously conceived, makes bondslaves of us. For among our race the land Belongs to the king and the king to the land; from ancient timei they are bound together. The clan depends on the just rule of the king to bring harmony and plenty to the land. As the king prospers, so prospers the land.”
“It is much the same with us,” observed Avallach.
“The land is the king’s to serve and protect. He grants it to his people in exchange for loyalty and arms in times of trouble.”
“Thank you for informing me,” he said after a time. “I see now how my words have offended, and I regret that I spoke ignorantly.”
“I hold no rancor for you, Lord Avallach.”
“Tell me then, Taliesin, how I may undo what I have done.”
“It will not be easy,” replied Taliesin.
“Name what I am to do and I will do it.”
“Very well. This is how you will gain back my father’s trust.” Taliesin began to devise a plan which he related to Avallach; and the two agreed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the melancholy came upon her, Charis sought solace in the saddle. She rode. And the wind and sun or, just as likely, the mists and rain sweeping through the dells soothed her restlessness. Out among the solitary hills, her loneliness was lost in the greater loneliness of the wild country. She returned from her rides calmed, if not content, her restive spirit subdued for a time.
But this time it did not work. She rode, and just when she seemed on the point of forgetting herself and allowing the sun and hills to work their magic, she looked back over her shoulder to see if he might be riding behind her. And each time she did that, her heartbeat quickened in her breast and her breath caught in her throat.
She told herself that he would not be there, that she did not want to see him, but she looked just the same. And when she did not see him, a pang of disappointment flared up to poison any contentment she might have gained. For five days she rode the wild hills, returning every evening exhausted and unhappy.
At night the palace was quiet and empty-far quieter and more empty than any time she could remember before the coming of the Cymry. Even Belyn and Maildun and their retinues did not fill the emptiness or banish the silence as had the Cymry with their songs and stories.