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  'We are not deemed old enough to try our skill,' Bedwyr explained, throwing a dark look at me-as if I were the cause of all his worldly problems.

  'Well, is that so?' replied Ectorius, beaming even more broadly. 'Then perhaps we must change that. Come to me tomorrow and I will see what can be done.'

  The boys thanked him and then dashed away, willing to be abed now in order to awaken all the sooner next morning. Just before closing their eyes, both boys thanked me again for letting them attend the Gathering.

  'I am glad we are here,' yawned Bedwyr happily. 'This will be a Gathering to remember. You wait and see, Artos.'

  'I am certain I shall never forget it,' Arthur assured him solemnly.

  To be sure, I do not think he ever did.

  THREE

  In the days that followed, I saw nothing of Bleddyn. He was about business of his own with the other lords of the Gathering, as I was about mine. Seeing that no one took any interest in Arthur – to the northern chieftains he was just another young boy – I left the boys in Pelleas' care and rode alone into the hills. There, I sought out those whose eyes were keener than my own, and whose advice would be well worth the effort to obtain. Impossible for anyone else, it took me several days to raise so much as a trace of the Little Dark Ones.

  Searching among the empty, windswept hills for the tracks I knew were there, I came upon a faint trail at dusk the second day. I made camp there so that I would not lose it again, and the next day followed the near-invisible trail along the ridgetops to a Hill Folk settlement: the low humps of earth-covered dwellings, or raths, nestled in a secret fold of a secluded glen. But the settlement appeared deserted.

  The day was far spent, so I made camp. Picketing my horse outside one of the dwellings, I went for water to the nearby stream at the bottom of the glen. I drank my fill, and then replenished my waterskin, and returned to camp – to discover my mount surrounded by seven diminutive men on shaggy ponies. I had neither heard nor seen them approach; they might have sprung from the heather banks around us. Bows and arrows in hand, they regarded me coldly, deep distrust in their dark eyes.

  I raised my hands in greeting. 'Samhneach, bredthairi,' I called to them in their own tongue. 'Peace, brothers.' I touched my fingers to the faded blue fhain-mark on my cheek. 'Amsarahd Fhain,' I told them. 'Hawk Fhain.'

  They gazed at me and then at one another in amazement. Who was this tallfolk stranger who spoke their tongue and claimed to be a clan member? One of the men, no larger than a boy of twelve summers, slipped from his mount and advanced to meet me. 'Vrandubh Fhain,' he said, touching his fhain-mark. 'Raven Fhain.'

  'Lugh-sun be good to you,' I responded. 'I am Myrddin."

  His eyes went wide and he turned to his brothers. 'Ken-ti-Gern!' he shouted. 'Ken-ti-Gern has come!'

  At this the men threw themselves from their ponies and out from the raths streamed women and children. In the space of three heartbeats, I was surrounded by Hill Folk, all of them reaching with eager hands, touching me, patting me.

  The she-chief of the clan appeared, a young woman dressed in soft deerskin with raven feathers stuck in her tightly plaited black hair. 'Greetings, Ken-ti-Gern,' she said, smiling with pleasure. Her teeth were fine and white against the hue of her tawny skin. 'I, Rina, welcome you. Sit with us,' she invited. 'Share our meat this night.'

  'I will sit with you, Rina,' I told her. 'I will share your meat.'

  With much clamour and ceremony, I was conducted to the largest of the three dwellings. Inside, presiding over a peat fire, sat an old woman with long white hair and a face so wrinkled I wondered that she could see out from among the puckers. But she tilted her head and regarded me with a clear black eye as I knelt before her.

  'Ken-ti-Gern has come to share meat,' Rina told the woman, who nodded silently – as if she knew I would one day appear at her hearth.

  'Greetings, Gern-y-fhain. Lugh-sun be good to you,' I said, and reaching into the pouch at my belt, produced a small gold bracelet I had brought with me for such an occasion. 'Take this, Gern-y-fhain. May it bring you good trade.'

  The Wise Woman smiled regally, and accepted the gift with a slow bow of her head. Then, turning to Rina beside me, I produced a small bronze dagger with a stag-horn handle. Rina's eyes lit with innocent delight at the sight of the knife. 'Take this, Rina,' I said, placing the prize in her outstretched palm. 'May it serve you well.'

  Rina's fingers closed over the dagger and she raised it before her sparkling eyes, clearly overwhelmed by her good fortune.

  In truth it was nothing-a bit of bronze and bone. A steel knife would have served her far better, but the Prytani fear iron and distrust steel; these rust, which suggests disease and decay to them.

  Gern-y-fhain clapped her hands twice sharply, and one of the women brought a bowl filled with a pungent foaming liquid. The Wise Woman drank and then passed the bowl to me. I took the bowl between my hands and drank deeply, savouring the bittersweet bite of heather beer. The taste brought tears to my eyes as memory flooded through me; I remembered the last time I drank that fine heady brew: the night of my leave-taking from Hawk Fhain.

  I drank as if partaking of my former life, gulping down the rich memory, and only reluctantly passed the bowl to Rina. When the ceremony of the welcome bowl had been properly observed, the clansmen who had been crowding at the entrance came tumbling into the rath. Children, small and brown, lithe as fawns, appeared in our midst. Young women, cradling tiny fuzzy-headed babies, crept in and settled behind the clan Wise Woman. By this, I understood I was being granted a glimpse of the fhain's treasure – their eurn, their child-wealth – a high honour for a tallfolk stranger.

  The men began preparing our meal, cutting strips of meat from the haunch of a small deer. The strips were wound on wooden skewers, and the skewers stuck in the earth around the peat fire to be turned idly from time to time. While the meat cooked, we began talking about the year.

  Winter had been wet, but not too cold, they said. And spring likewise. Summer was drier, and warmer, and the sheep had fattened nicely. Raven Fhain had expected the Gathering to take place, and knew how many were in attendance and whence the participants had come. The Hill Folk did not seem to mind the warriors' presence. 'They do not raid like the Seaxemen,' Rina explained.

  'Those of the Long Knife steal our sheep and kill our children,' Gern-y-fhain added bitterly. 'Soon our Parents will take us home.'

  'Have you seen the Long Knife?' I asked.

  The Wise Woman made a small motion of her head. 'Not this season,' she said. 'But they will return soon.'

  One of the men spoke up. 'We have seen Picti boats flying north and east over the sea. The Cran-Tara has gone out, and the Seaxemen will come.'

  This was said without bitterness or rancour, but I could feel the weight of sorrow in the words. The Small Dark Ones could see their world changing, diminishing before their eyes. They believed, however, that their Parents – the Earth Goddess and her consort Lugh-sun – would summon them to their proper homeland: a paradise in the western sea. After all, they were the Firstborn of the Mother's child-wealth, were they not? They had a special place in her great loving heart; and she had prepared a homeland for them far, far away from the bedevilled tallfolk. They yearned for that day, which, considering the ever-increasing predations they endured, could not be long in coming.

  I listened to the recitation of their troubles, and wished I could aid them in some way. But the only thing that would help would be a long season of peace and stability in the land, and that was something I had no power to give.

  Pelleas watched over Arthur and Bedwyr while I was gone. Rising early to begin the day, and resisting sleep to the last possible moment to prolong their participation, the two greedy cubs roamed the Gathering: young wolves out to devour as much of warrior life as they could clamp jaws to.

  They watched the trials of skill and strength with great eagerness and enthusiasm – mostly in the company of Lord Ectorius, who welcomed them as lords an
d sword brothers. Their high-pitched yelps of pleasure could be heard above even Ectorius' roar of acclaim whenever a skilful blow was struck or a fine manoeuvre accomplished. They never missed an opportunity to view the trials, and when there were none, they practised on their own, imitating all they had seen.

  The weather held good all the while, and as the Gathering drew to an end, I returned to camp and lingered near the boys – but out of their notice.

  'What is it, master? Are you troubled?' Pelleas asked me once when he saw me alone. The boys were watching a trial of accuracy with the spear on the back of a galloping horse.

  My eyes never left the scene before me. 'No,' I replied, shaking my head slightly, 'I am not troubled. I am wishing there was a way for them to remain together.' I gestured towards the two boys across the way.

  'It would be well for them to remain together,' Pelleas agreed. 'They are very fond of one another.'

  'But it is not to be.'

  'No?'

  'No. When the Gathering is over Bedwyr will go to Ennion in Rheged, and we must return to Caer Tryfan.'

  'Perhaps Arthur would rather go with Ectorius,' Pelleas suggested lightly. He had been thinking about this, I could tell.

  'It could be arranged,' I mused. Bleddyn would have no objection, I thought, and judging from what I had seen of Ectorius, the boy Arthur would be welcome at his hearth.

  'But that is not what kept you from camp these last days,' Pelleas said, turning patient eyes on me.

  'You are right, Pelleas,' I told him. 'The Picti and Scoti have sent out the Cran-Tara – the summons to war. In the spring they will amass their forces in the camps and then turn south to raid.'

  'Is it something you have seen?'

  'It is something the First Children have seen.' I told him where I had been for the last few days: wandering among the hollow hills in search of the Little Dark People. 'I was hoping to find some of them up here this summer, and I succeeded – rather, they allowed me to find them.'

  'Hawk Fhain?'

  'No, another: Raven Fhain. But they recognized my fhain-mark.' I touched the small blue spiral on my cheek – the reminder of my time with the Hill Folk – and could not help but smile. 'They knew me, Pelleas; they remembered. Ken-ti-Gern – that is how I am known among them now. It means Wise Leader of the Tallfolk.'

  'They told you about the Cran-Tara? It is certain?'

  'Their gern, the main's Wise Woman, told me, 'We have seen the ships flying east to Ierneland, and west to Saecsland- flying like gulls, like smoke disappearing over the wide water. We have heard the blood oaths spoken on the wind. We have seen the sun rise black in the north.' I paused. 'Yes, it is certain.'

  'But, master,' Pelleas said, 'I do not understand why this should prevent the boys from remaining together.'

  'What they must learn they will learn best alone,' I explained. 'Together, they would only hinder one another. Their friendship is a high and holy thing and it must be carefully conserved. Britain will need its strength in the years to come.'

  Pelleas accepted this. He was used to my reasons. 'Would you have me tell them?'

  'Thank you, Pelleas, but no. I will tell them.' I turned. 'But that will keep until tomorrow, I think. Come, we are to go and speak to Bleddyn and his lords; they are waiting.'

  Bleddyn received us in his tent, and offered us wine and barley cakes. After exchanging observations about the Gathering, Bleddyn introduced us to one of the lords with him, a nobleman named Hywel, who, after he had greeted us, said, 'I bring a word which may be of value to you.'

  'Then you have my complete attention,' I replied, settling myself to listen.

  Hywel leaned forward. 'We have seen barbarian encampments in Druim, and along the Cait coast. Five altogether – some of them large enough for three hundred men. We came upon them abandoned, though not long so. They appear to have been in use early this summer.'

  'The Cran-Tara,' I said, nodding at this confirmation of the Gern-y-fhain's words.

  'You know this already?' Bleddyn wondered.

  'Only that the war summons has gone out. It remains to be seen if any will answer it.'

  Hywel regarded me for a moment. 'I thought to be of service to you, but it seems that you are better informed than I.'

  'There is yet something you can do, if you are willing.'

  'You have only name it, Lord Emrys.'

  'Set watch in the spring and bring word to Caer Edyn if anything follows from the Cran-Tara.'

  'It will be done, Lord Emrys.'

  'Why Caer Edyn?' Bleddyn asked when we were alone once more.

  'Because that is where I will be,' I replied. Bleddyn expressed surprise, so I explained. 'The time for Bedwyr's fostering is here, and Arthur must begin his own. I cannot praise your generosity highly enough, nor properly thank you for all you have done for Arthur.'

  'I mean to foster the lad,' protested Bleddyn.

  'And you would serve him well – of that I have no doubt," I told him. 'These last years have been good ones, but we must not grow complacent. I think we must move on now.'

  Bleddyn accepted this, but was saddened nonetheless. 'My loss will be Ector's gain,' he said. 'I feared this day would come. I had hoped to hold it off a little longer.'

  'I wish it could be otherwise,' I replied. 'But the world will not wait. We must move with it, or we will be left behind.'

  'I am sorry to see you go.' The king regarded me sadly.

  'You know the way to Caer Edyn,' I told him. 'You have but to saddle a horse and you are there. Though it would be best if you forgot you ever heard of Arthur – at least for a while longer.'

  The next day – the last day of the Gathering – I went to our tent at dusk as the boys sat eating their supper together before a small fire Pelleas had made. Arthur welcomed me warmly, and when I had settled down beside him on the ground, he said, 'You have been scarce as boar feathers, Myrddin. And you have missed most of the trials. I watched for you. Where have you been?'

  I put my arm around Arthur's shoulders. 'I have been searching here and there, and learning the condition of the Island of the Mighty. Of spears and swords and mounted drills, I have had enough.'

  'Had enough?' wondered Bedwyr. 'You never ride with the warriors, Myrddin.'

  I shook my head slowly. 'You are right; I have not ridden with the warband for many years. But I did once.'

  Bedwyr's look of astonishment did not go unnoticed. 'Is that so hard to believe?' I countered. 'Then I will tell you something more difficult still: once I led the warband of Dyfed.'

  'I believe him,' said Arthur staunchly.

  'Well, I did not come to talk about my time as a warrior, but about yours.' The boys leaned forward in anticipation. 'Tomorrow the Gathering will end, and everyone will return to their homes – everyone except the four of us.'

  This was news. The boys glanced nervously at one another, and at Pelleas. What is this? What does it mean?

  'A prince must receive fostering in a king's house.' I stated the thing squarely. 'Is this not true?'

  'It is,' replied Bedwyr, giving a sharp nod of assent.

  'From time past remembering, brother lords have trained one another's sons. This is how it should be. You two are of an age to begin your training. Therefore, your fostering has been arranged.'

  The initial excitement created by this pronouncement faded rapidly as the implications began to sink in. Bedwyr voiced his apprehension. 'We will not be together, will we?'

  Again, I shook my head slowly. 'No. That would not be for the best.'

  How quickly the moods of the young can change. Black gloom settled over the boys. It was as if they had been told that they must choose between them which one to sell into Saecsen slavery.

  Though it hurt me to do it, I let them live with their sadness for a moment before offering solace.

  Then, speaking softly, I said, 'You will be great lords, each of you. I have seen this. What is more, you will live out your days in one another's company. This have I see
n as well.

  'Therefore, take heart. Apply yourselves to the tasks set before you and the time will pass more quickly. Soon enough you will ride together: true sword brothers. And the world will tremble at your passing.'

  This pleased them enormously. Arthur jumped to his feet, and, lacking a sword, raised his fist in the air. 'Hail, brother! Let us go gladly to our new homes, since it is for our benefit.'

  Bedwyr, on his feet now, too, echoed this sentiment. 'Remember,' Arthur continued, 'we will meet again at next year's Gathering.'

  'And the next after that!' cried Bedwyr. If they were pleased before, they were delighted now. 'Hail, Arthur!' they cried noisily, fists in the air. 'Hail, Bedwyr!'

  I rose to my feet. 'Well said,' I told them. 'Each year at the Gathering you shall come together to ride and feast-until the day when you will no longer be separated.'

  The next morning when the arrangements were formally explained, the boys accepted their elders' decisions with good grace. As the camp was being struck and the first warbands began their homeward journeys, the boys lingered with one another, pledging and repledging their friendship until Bedwyr was summoned to leave.

  'I must go,' said Bedwyr, his voice trembling slightly. 'I will miss you, Artos.'

  'And I will miss you, Bedwyr.'

  'Lord Ectorius has a good warband. You will do well.'

  'And Lord Ennion's warband is second to none other. Take care to learn all you can.' Arthur clapped a hand on Bedwyr's back.

  Bedwyr's lower lip quivered and he threw his arms around Arthur. The two boys hugged one another for a moment, before remembering their dignity. 'Fare well, Arthur,' Bedwyr said, sniffing back a tear.

  'Fare well, brother,' returned Arthur. 'Until next year!'

  'Until next year!'

  Ennion departed soon after. Arthur rode to the crest of the hill that he might watch them out of sight. In a little while, I went to fetch him and found him there, watching still, although Ennion and his warband, and Bedwyr, were gone.

  'It is time, Arthur. Lord Ectorius is taking his leave now.' He made no reply. 'The year will pass quickly,' I told him, mistaking his silence. 'You will see Bedwyr again before you know it.'