And this was the second night of Pwyll the Stranger on the Summer Tree.
Chapter 9
In the morning came something unheard of: a hot, dry wind, bitter and unsettling, swept down into Paras Derval from the north.
No one could remember a hot north wind before. It carried with it the dust of bone-bare farms, so the air darkened that day, even at noon, and the high sun shone balefully orange through the obscuring haze.
The thunder continued, almost a mockery. There were no clouds.
“With all respect, and such-like sentiments,” Diarmuid said from by the window, his tone insolent and angry, “We are wasting time.” He looked dishevelled and dangerous; he was also, Kevin realized with dismay, a little drunk.
From his seat at the head of the council table, Ailell ignored his heir. Kevin, still not sure why he’d been invited here, saw two bright spots of red on the cheeks of the old King. Ailell looked terrible; he seemed to have shrivelled overnight.
Two more men entered the room: a tall, clever-looking man, and beside him, a portly, affable fellow. The other mage, Kevin guessed: Teyrnon, with Barak, his source. Gorlaes, the Chancellor, made the introductions and it turned out he was right, except the innocuous-seeming fat man was the mage, and not the other way around.
Loren was still away, but Matt was in the room, and so, too, were a number of other dignitaries. Kevin recognized Mabon, the Duke of Rhoden, Ailell’s cousin, and beyond him was Niavin of Seresh. The ruddy man with the salt-and-pepper beard was Ceredur, who had been made North Warden after Diarmuid’s brother was exiled. He’d seen them at last night’s banquet. Their expressions were very different now.
It was Jaelle, they were waiting for, and as the moments passed, Kevin, too, began to grow impatient with apprehension.
“My lord,” he said abruptly to the King, “while we wait—who is Galadan? I feel completely ignorant.”
It was Gorlaes who answered. Ailell was sunken in silence, and Diarmuid was still sulking by the window. “He is a force of Darkness from long ago. A very great power, though he did not always serve the Dark,” the Chancellor said. “He is one of the andain—child of a mortal woman and a god. In older days there were not a few such unions. The andain are a difficult race, moving easily in no world at all. Galadan became their Lord, by far the most powerful of them all, and said to be the most subtle mind in Fionavar. Then something changed him.”
“An understatement, that,” murmured Teyrnon.
“I suppose,” said Gorlaes. “What happened is that he fell in love with Lisen of the Wood. And when she rejected him and bound herself instead to a mortal, Amairgen Whitebranch, first of the mages, Galadan vowed the most complete vengeance ever sworn.” The Chancellor’s voice took on a note of awe. “Galadan swore that the world that witnessed his humiliation would cease to exist.”
There was a silence. Kevin could think of nothing to say. Nothing at all.
Teyrnon took up the tale. “In the time of the Bael Rangat he was first lieutenant to Rakoth and most terrible of his servants. He had the power to take on the shape of a wolf, and so he commanded them all. His purposes, though, were at odds with his master’s, for though the Unraveller sought rule for lust of power and domination, Galadan would have conquered to utterly destroy.”
“They fought?” Kevin hazarded.
Teyrnon shook his head. “One did not pitch oneself against Rakoth. Galadan has very great powers, and if he has joined the svart alfar to his wolves in war upon us, then we are in danger indeed; but Rakoth, whom the stones bind, is outside the Tapestry. There is no thread with his name upon it. He cannot die, and none could ever set his will against him.”
“Amairgen did,” said Diarmuid from the window.
“And died,” Teyrnon replied, not ungently.
“There are worse things,” the Prince snapped.
At that, Ailell stirred. Before he could speak, though, the door opened and Jaelle swept into the room. She nodded briefly to the King, acknowledged no one else, and slipped into the chair left for her at one end of the long table.
“Thank you for hurrying,” Diarmuid murmured, coming to take his chair at Ailell’s right hand. Jaelle merely smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
“Well, now,” said the King, clearing his throat, “it seems to me that the best way to proceed is to spend this morning in a careful review—”
“In the name of the Weaver and the Loom, Father!” Diarmuid’s fist crashed on the table. “We all know what has happened! What is there to review? I swore an oath last night we would aid the lios, and—”
“A premature oath, Prince Diarmuid,” Gorlaes interrupted. “And not one within your power to swear.”
“No?” said the Prince softly. “Then let me remind you—let us indeed carefully review,” he amended delicately, “what has happened. One of my men is dead. One of the ladies of this court is dead. A svart alfar was within the palace grounds six nights ago.” He was ticking them off on his fingers. “Lios alfar have died in Brennin. Galadan has returned. Avaia has returned. Our First Mage is a proven traitor. A guest-friend of this House has been torn away from us—a guest-friend, I pause to point out, of our radiant High Priestess as well. Which should mean something, unless she takes such things to be meaningless.”
“I do not,” Jaelle snapped through clenched teeth.
“No?” the Prince said, his eyebrows raised. “What a surprise. I thought you might regard it as of the same importance as arriving to a War Council on time.”
“It isn’t yet a Council of War,” Duke Ceredur said bluntly. “Though to be truthful, I am with the Prince— I think we should have the country on war footing immediately.”
There was a grunt of agreement from Matt Sören. Teyrnon, though, shook his round honest head. “There is too much fear in the city,” he demurred, “and it is going to spread within days throughout the country.” Niavin, Duke of Seresh, was nodding agreement. “Unless we know exactly what we are doing and what we face, I think we must take care not to panic them,” the chubby mage concluded.
“We do know what we face!” Diarmuid shot back. “Galadan was seen. He was seen! I say we summon the Dalrei, make league with the lios, and seek the Wolflord wherever he goes and crush him now!”
“Amazing,” Jaelle murmured drily in the pause that ensued, “how impetuous younger sons tend to be, especially when they have been drinking.”
“Go gently, sweetling,” the Prince said softly. “I will not brook that from anyone. You, least of all, my midnight moonchild.”
Kevin exploded. “Will you two listen to yourselves? Don’t you understand: Jennifer is gone! We’ve got to do something besides bicker, for God’s sake!”
“I quite agree,” Teyrnon said sternly. “May I suggest that we invite our friend from Daniloth to join us if he is able. We should seek the views of the lios on this.”
“You may seek their views,” said Ailell dan Art, suddenly rising to tower above them all, “and I would have his thoughts reported to me later, Teyrnon. But I have decided to adjourn this Council until this same time tomorrow. You all have leave to go.”
“Father—” Diarmuid began, stammering with consternation.
“No words!” Ailell said harshly, and his eyes gleamed in his bony face. “I am still High King in Brennin, let all of you remember it!”
“We do, my dearest lord,” said a familiar voice from the door. “We all do,” Loren Silvercloak went on, “but Galadan is far too great a power for us to delay without cause.”
Dusty and travel-stained, his eyes hollow with exhaustion, the mage ignored the fierce reaction to his arrival and gazed only at the King. There was, Kevin realized, a sudden surge of relief in the room; he felt it within himself. Loren was back. It made a very great difference.