Cry of Sorrow by Holly Taylor

Author:Holly Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781605429731
Publisher: Medallion Press
Published: 2008-11-10T22:00:00+00:00

Part 3

The Hunt

Cold is the night,

The rain pours down, no trifle;

A roar in which the clean wind rejoices

Howls over the sheltering wood.

Mannawyddan ap Iweridd

Fifth Ardewin

Circa 265

Chapter 14

Dinmael

Kingdom of Ederynion, Kymru

Gwernan Mis, 499

Meirwdydd, Lleihau Wythnos—evening

Regan paced the ramparts of Caer Dwyr, the Queen’s fortress in Dinmael. Not that the fortress truly belonged to the Queen, she thought bitterly. Nothing in Ederynion did, not anymore. For the Queen was a captive of the enemy. Regan herself was not really the Queen’s Dewin anymore. She was a bond for Queen Elen’s good behavior. For if Elen ever fully rebelled against her captors, Regan’s life would be forfeit.

The only thing that made their lives even bearable was General Talorcan—the same man who also made Regan’s life so unbearable. Because she knew, even though she had tried to run from the knowledge, that she loved Talorcan of Dere. She loved him in spite of who he was, and in spite of what he had done.

Regan sighed and leaned against the stone walls of the fortress, looking out over the silent city. It was late and the stars glittered coldly overhead. Not so very long ago Talorcan would have come to her, dismissing the guard who lurked a few feet away, taking her arm, twining his fingers around her hand.

But he would not do so anymore. He would not come to her, because he loved her. And he knew what loving him was doing to her. He knew what would happen to her heart if he took her to his bed. He knew, perhaps, what would happen to his.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to pretend the dark city before her was as it had been only a few years before. The walls would be whole and shining. This very night was the eve of Calan Llachar. There would have been singing and dancing in Nemed Aethnen, the sacred grove of aspen trees. Bright bonfires would have burned in the center of the grove. Iago, as presiding Druid, would have told the story of the death and return to life of Cerrunnos, Master of the Hunt. He would have told of Cerridwen’s courage and daring, and how Cerrunnos had claimed her for his own. Silver vessels holding pieces of bread would have been passed around among laughing crowds. Those people who picked burned pieces would have jumped the flames amid cheering.

And tomorrow! Tomorrow would have been the race to the tree. The winner of the race would have been named King of the Wood and climbed the highest branches of the tree to bring down the crown of rowan and marsh marigold, and used it to crown the woman who was queen of his heart.

But nothing like that would happen here now. The Druids proclaimed the Kymric gods and goddesses to be false, insisting that the people give their allegiance to the Coranian god, Lytir. The sacred grove had been cut down, and a temple to Lytir had been built in its place. Even laughter was a thing of the past, for the Kymri no longer had cause to laugh at anything.

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