Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [36]
A darkness passed over the scene as Gwen shuddered at the misery in Arianrhod’s voice. She sensed how deeply wounded the goddess was, how it wounded her that this beautiful boy, whom she would gladly have cherished, was the cause of the worst experience of her life. And when the darkness faded into light, the scene remained the same, but it was clear some time had passed. Two bards, an old, old man and his apprentice, approached the castle and were welcomed inside. Somehow Gwen found herself in the Great Hall with them, as if she were some sort of bodiless spirit. And while part of her knew that the bard and his companion were, in fact, Gwydion and Lleu in disguise, she could not see it and, clearly, neither could Arianrhod.
Gwydion was a famous bard in actuality, something that his sister seemed to have forgotten as he regaled her and her court of mostly women with song and story. But behind the storytelling, there was magic afoot; Gwen felt the Power stirring, could almost see it as Gwydion wove it into the tales of battle and tragedy that he chanted. She felt the Power stretching the very fabric of the air tight, as a drumhead was stretched tight, until at last it took shape from those very same tales just as Gwydion had intended.
The roar of an assaulting army shook the walls of the castle; startled into panic, Arianrhod and her women screamed in fear—as well they might considering how few men were in Arianrhod’s retinue. In terror, Arianrhod turned to the “bard,” who could be expected to have some idea who might be attacking her all unprovoked and who might well have some strong magic to defend his hostess. “I have given you my hearth and bread!” she cried. “I beg you, help me!”
Gwydion had only been waiting for this, and he thrust Lleu toward the queen. “This fellow is a doughty fighter,” he said, “Worth ten of any normal man. Arm him, my lady, and I will strive to make magic in your aid.”
Arianrhod called for a sword and armor to be brought, and with her own hands buckled sword and scabbard onto Lleu. In that moment, the clamor from outside ceased, and the seeming dropped from both Lleu and Gwydion, and Arianrhod’s fear turned to fury.
“Three times tricked!” she spat. “But this, I swear, will pay for all. Never, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, will you have lover or leman or wife that is a mortal woman! Enjoy that sword you got of me, for that is all the bedfellow you shall ever have!”
But Lleu did not care, for now, at last, he had the arms he needed to slay the man who had tried to slay him. His face was alight with a fierce exaltation, so that it outshone the sun, and his eyes burned so brightly that for a moment, Gwen was blinded.
When her sight came back, the scene had changed. A dark but handsome man cowered before Lleu, the treacherous Goronwy, who had plotted with Lleu’s faithless wife to slay him.
But now it was Goronwy’s turn to be slain. Standing where Lleu had stood, he pleaded for his life. “I have no magic to protect me as you did!” he was begging, as Gwen took in the scene. “Let me at least have a paving stone between us!”
Lleu laughed. “Never let it be said that I was less than fair!” he replied mockingly. “You may have your stone.”
Desperately Goronwy pulled up a flat stone and huddled behind it, as if behind a shield. And Lleu stretched his arm back—
As the sun stretches his strength come the Year Turning—
And flung his spear with all his strength—
As the warming spring is flung against the cold and weakening winter—
—and the spear hit the flagstone so hard that it pierced straight through and killed Goronwy in the instant.
Lleu’s shout of triumph shattered the world into a thousand, thousand bright splinters.
And with that, Gwen fell back into herself and found herself once again hiding in the shadows of three massive oak trees, watching the rite take place within the circle of standing stones.
Chapter Six
Driving a chariot—merely driving