Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [163]
“Give him his head,” the Lady said. “Trust his instincts. If the King of Annwn is inclined to open his door to us—”
“The King of Annwn could not fail to welcome the Lady of the Cauldron Well and the White Apparition.” Gwyn ap Nudd’s voice came calmly out of the mist ahead of them. Pryderi stopped; the mist swirled a little, then parted, and then Gwyn stepped out of it, putting one hand on Pryderi’s bridle. He looked up at Gwen. “So. Arthur needs his men. I can, and will, bring them through the doors of Annwn.”
She let out the breath she had been holding at his answer and bowed in the saddle. “Then I thank you, Lord of Annwn.”
He shook his head. “Do not thank me,” he said, his eyes growing dark and sad; he released Pryderi and turned back into the mist. “I do them no favors, cousin, for I bring them to their deaths.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwen wished that she could see Medraut’s face. From where she sat on her horse, all she could see was the suit of armor and the blank faceplate of his helmet. There was no doubt it was him, though. The helm already had a golden coronet around it. It seemed he was very confident of victory over Arthur.
It was the first time she’d ever seen him in armor, although she had no doubt that he knew its weight well and knew the use of that sword he had strapped to his side. He had been one of Arthur’s Companions, after all, and that wasn’t just an honorary title. Medraut might avoid fighting whenever possible, but he clearly was able to give a good accounting of himself when he had to.
But right now, he surely found himself feeling disconcerted. He had come with his army of Saxons at his back expecting to find Arthur and no more than two hundred of his warriors. Instead, he found himself facing Arthur and every fighter that could be persuaded to cross the arcane gates into and out of Annwn to be here. And for Arthur’s sake, that had been nearly all of them.
Even Lancelin.
Lancelin had arrived on his own, weary, on an exhausted horse. He had been taken straight to Arthur. She did not know what had transpired between the two men; she had not been privy to any of it, and he had made no attempt to seek her out, for explanations or otherwise. But Lancelin now held the left flank of the army, in his old position, as Kai held the right. Not by word or gesture had he even acknowledged that she was there, and by now, only the bands of her will held the pieces of her heart together. He had chosen. And as she had known he must, he had chosen the King.
The armies faced one another across a watercourse barely large enough to be called a river. The timely arrival of his men had allowed Arthur to move his forces to slightly better ground before Medraut’s arrival; this place was called “Camlann,” according to the local farmer who had guided Gwen to several good places to position archers.
But Arthur was determined to avoid a battle if he possibly could. He had hoped that a show of force would make Medraut change his mind; hoped that he could strike some sort of bargain with his son.
So now, two armies of nearly equal size faced each other across a tiny river swollen with spring rains.
Medraut’s face was hidden behind a faceplate of blackened metal. Arthur wore only the open-faced helm of a Roman soldier that he had worn all his life as a warrior. And so they are, on the field as in life. Medraut always concealing what he truly is behind a mask. Arthur never concealing anything . . .
Except he had, of course. He had hidden so many things; his own birth had been concealed, he himself had been hidden until he had come of age to take back his father’s kingship. He had hidden the fact that he had sired Medraut, hidden that he had tried to kill the infant. Hidden that he had caused the slaughter of who knew how many others in an effort to get the one he faced now. He had hidden that Medraut was his son . . .
So many things hidden . . .
It was as if they had conspired together to create