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discarded, the golden bracelet flashing in the sun that dappled the clearing. Her eyes were shuttered and silent now, but something flickered there that made Owein quake inwardly half in exasperation, half in pity.
    Rhiwallon, Owein’s younger brother, stood between Owein and Enid. His young, twenty-year-old face was fresh and eager. His redgold hair was tied back in a leather thong at the nape of his strong neck. His blue eyes were clouded, as always, with dreams of glory—glory for Owein’s sake, not his own. How Owein wished that his own heart was so clean and pure.
    But it was time to begin. They were waiting for his orders. As he often did, he twisted the opal ring of Rheged on his finger, the ring that Esyllt had brought him, given to her by King Urien himself before that last battle.
    “Esyllt,” Owein said at last. “What news?”
    Gracefully Esyllt rose. “Today I have received a long message from the Master Bard. First, Anieron gives news that Hetwin Silver-Brow, from his base in Coed Coch, has won a great victory over a force of over one hundred Coranian warriors. These warriors had been sent, it seems, to flush out his band from the forest. Every last one of these Coranians is dead. Their commander is still in Clwyd, awaiting some word from his men. He will wait a long time, of that you may be sure.”
    Owein did smile then, pleasure at the enemy’s defeat lighting up his stern face.
    “There is word, too,” Esyllt continued, “that the band in Gwent, led by Lord Tyrnon and Lady Atlantas, has razed the temple of Lytir in Margam to the ground.”
    “Good,” Owein said shortly. “I hope there were some preosts in it at the time.”
    “There were, my Lord,” Esyllt said, smiling. “And one of the wyrce-jaga was there, also.”
    “Now that is even better news. One less Coranian witch-hunter in Kymru is Kymru’s gain.”
    “Would that we could come across more ourselves,” Teleri said darkly. “That is a gain I would love to help Kymru make.”
    “You shall get your wish, Lieutenant,” Esyllt said. “The Master Bard says there is a band of wyrce-jaga coming up the River Rhymney, passing very close to the forest tomorrow.”
    “If it will please you, Teleri,” Gwarae said grandly, “I shall take their heads and lay them at your delicate, perfect feet.”
    “That will not be necessary,” Teleri said coolly. “Do you think I could let them pass and not be there to greet them myself?”
    “Well, then, what if I shoot one straight through the heart, with an arrow to which I have first whispered your name? Then shall you pierce their hearts as you have pierced mine.” Gwarae grinned, placing his hand over his heart, his eyes mocking.
    Teleri rolled her eyes in exasperation. Gwarae often teased her because, he said, her seriousness amused him. For her part, Teleri declared Gwarae a pest, and ignored him whenever he would let her, which was not often.
    “We will all be there,” Owein said. “That is great news and an assignment I am happy to fulfill. Is that all, Esyllt?”
    “No,” she said hesitantly. “There is more.”
    “Bad news?” Owein asked quietly.
    “Anieron warns us that one week ago Havgan called a meeting of his inner circle at Eiodel. It was impossible to hear what went on there, but just after that meeting, urgent messages were sent out to each of his Generals. But what the messages were, we do not know. Anieron fears the worst, for it was reported by a Dewin who was Wind-Riding near Caer Duir that the Archdruid’s face, as he rode home from that meeting, was triumphant.”
    “Nothing much new to that,” Rhiwallon said cheerfully. “He’s been full of himself for years.”
    “But Aergol’s face was clouded. Now what, Anieron wonders, would be so terrible that Cathbad would be delighted and Aergol would be displeased? Anieron warns us all to be very cautious in the days to come, for surely something of the utmost importance has been discussed, and plans for our