The Paradise War

Chapter 16 Llys Meidryn

With daylight the caer leaped to life. The soft night faded in a fiery dawn, and Sycharth's inhabitants shook off their languor and hastened to prepare the feast which their king had proclaimed. Simon had disappeared and I didn't feel like sitting alone in the Warriors' House. So, wrapped in my borrowed cloak, I wandered where I would, making myself familiar with the lay of the land.

Wherever I looked I saw someone-man, woman, or child-bustling about some task. There was not an idle hand anywhere, except mine. No one gave me anything to do, or even seemed to take notice of me-although I caught some of the children gawking at me when they thought I wouldn't see.

Sycharth was even larger than I first thought, sheltering perhaps a thousand people. There were three main sections: one of storehouses and granaries, one of livestock pens, one of artisans' and craftsmen's quarters. And, scattered throughout, the dwelling places of the inhabitants, huddled together in random clusters, usually three or more around a central cookhouse or kitchen. Threads of silvery smoke wafted up through the reed thatch of the cookhouses; the smells seeping into the air made my empty stomach grumble.

Every corner of the caer pulsed with sound and activity: from the dull chunk of wood being chopped to the sharp squeal of pigs being slaughtered, and always, everywhere, the voices of the laborers lifted in song-the fortress itself seemed to sing with a cheerful tumult. I meandered here and there, sampling the happy sounds, my fondness for the uncluttered simplicity of life in the caer growing with every step.

There were no streets as such, just a tangle of narrow lanes lacing several wider pathways together. All of the wider pathways were lined with a triple track of dressed stone, which at first puzzled me, until I tumbled to the fact that in seasons of rain the hooves of horses and the wheels of wagons would sink into the mud without this simple paving.

The various structures appeared to be in excellent repair; the livestock pens were full of fat pigs, sheep, and cattle; the artisans' huts were well stocked with goods-all indicating an industrious and prosperous tribe. Even after the most casual perusal, I could well believe Simon's boast that the Llwyddi were the pre-eminent clan in the land.

This informal survey of the caer occupied me until well past mid-morning. Then my growling stomach got the better of me, and I returned to the Warriors' House to find Simon waiting for me-somewhat nervously. «Where have you been?» he demanded.

«Nowhere,» I told him. «Just out walking around.»

He turned and retrieved a bundle from a nearby pallet. This he placed in my hands, saying, «Put these on and be quick about it.»

I untied the bundle and unfolded a pale blue shirt, a pair of dark green trousers with thin red stripes, a brown woven cloth belt, and a pair of the short, soft leather boots, or buskins, which the Llywddi wore. Every item was new, and finely made. Glad to be free of my own filthy trousers, I shucked them off and prepared to pull on the new ones.

«The underpants, too,» Simon intoned. «Get rid of them.»

«But-« I hesitated.

«They'll only make you miserable. Anyway, you don't need them.»

Dubiously, I discarded my boxer shorts. True, I hadn't had a change of underpants for days, so it was no great loss; but I doubted Simon's assertion that I wouldn't need them. I was also a little sorry to see my good hiking shoes go. The soft boots, or buskins, looked comfortable enough, but I knew I'd miss a stout arch and good, hard sole.

Neither the shirt nor the trousers had buttons or laces of any kind, so Simon showed me how to wrap the long ~hirtwaist and cinch the trousers with the wide belt, which he wound around my middle twice and tied in front. The shirt and trousers-siarc and breecs, according to Simon-were on the billowy side, but the buskins fit as if they had been made to order for me.

When I'd finished, Simon stepped back and gave me a ritical once-over. He pronounced the effect acceptable, if riot exactly sartorially stunning. «That's better. You'll do.»

Then he took up another bundle and shook out a bright range cloak, which he proceeded to arrange about my thoulders. «You fold it like this,» he said, showing me how it was done. «Then you pin it to hold it in place… like so.» He passed a crude bronze pin through the folds at my left ihoulder. «Sorry about the brooch.»

«That's all right. I don't mind.»

«Thing is, if you want a better one you have to earn it. Brooches are a sign of rank around here-the same with torcs and most other baubles.»

«Gold for kings, silver for princes, copper for chieftains, and soon,» I replied, reciting a bit of Celtic lore.

«That's right,» he said with a satisfied nod, «but there are many subtle degrees having to do with size, design, workmanship, and so on. It isn't difficult, you'll catch on.»

«Simon,» I said seriously, «how do you know so much?» This question had been simmering at the back of my brain ever since I had clapped eyes on Simon on the battlefield. I had not been able to put words to it until just now. «How have you managed it in such a short time?»

He raised one quizzical eyebrow. «What are you babbling about?»

«Well, look at you-you're a warrior, you've fought in battles, you know everything about life here, you speak the language like a native. How is that possible? You've only been here a couple months.»

«I have been with Clan Llwydd four years,» Simon responded solemnly.

«Four years! You can't-« I began, and stopped short. Time in the Otherworld was not the same as time in the real world. Each world marked time differently, and there was no correspondence between them at all. Minutes might be years, years might be hours, might be decades, might be seconds, might be centuries. Who could tell?

This was a fact well documented in the literature of folklore, but I had not fully credited it until now. I felt a pang of dread at the thought that time was passing independently on the other side. What would await us when we returned?

Simon puckered his lips irritably. «Now what's wrong?»

Thrusting my anxiety aside, I grinned back at him. «Nothing. I feel like a real Cdt now,» I said. «This is great.»

«Glad you think so.»

I caught a slight undercurrent of waspishness to his words. «Why? What's up?»

«The king is holding court today, and he wants to see you.»

«He does? Really?»

«You're high on the agenda, chum.»

«I didn't know he knew I was even here.»

«Oh, he knows,» Simon confirmed flatly. «If Meldron hadn't told him, Ruadh would have. You killed the Cruin champion-remember?»

«Oh, that.»

Simon fixed me with a stern and serious stare. «Look, let us have no misunderstandings, right? You killed the champion. You have to go along with that, do you understand? You will only embarrass yourself and the other warriors if you deny it now. And it could get you into a lot of trouble.»

«All right, Simon. If that's the way you want it. But what's the big deal?»

«I'm not going to argue with you. You don't know the first thing about what goes on here. Just do as I say. This is for your own good, believe me.»

«Fine. Wonderful. I'll do as you say.»

I must have looked anxious, because Simon grinned suddenly and gave me a punch on the arm. «Don't worry. I'll be right beside you the whole time. Ready?»

«Ready as I'll ever be,» I said, and then added, «There is just one thing.»

«What now?»

«I know this probably isn't the time,» I muttered hesitantly. «But we've got to talk about going back-back to the real world. You said to wait till we got to Sycharth, and– well, we're here. Maybe we should say something. to the king.»

«You're right,» Simon replied. For an instant, I thought he was going to be reasonable. «This isn't the time. We'll talk to the king after the feast. Come on, enjoy yourself a little, Lewis. Relax, will you? We'll get this all sorted out.»

«All right,» I agreed reluctantly. «After the feast.»

«Let's go, then.» Simon turned and led me from the lodge. We made our way to the king's hall, retracing our steps of the night before, and I noticed that the nearer we came, the busier the bustle. In the yard before the king's hall, long boards had been set up on trestles, with benches flanking either side. A troop of men and boys was constructing a small pyramid of oaken casks in the center of the yard. Several dozen warriors lingered near the entrance to the hall. And there were a score or more horses tethered at the far end of the grassy expanse.

Simon saw me eyeing the horses and said, «Some of Meldryn Mawr's chieftains have come to the ilys.»

«Llys» is an old Briton word for court-designating either the place of meeting, or the meeting itself. It was, I knew, often something of an occasion. Legal business was conducted, commerce and trade transacted, and personal squabbles and misfortunes set to rights. Anyone with a gripe or grievance could approach the seat of judgment and speak his piece before the king, who would mete out the required justice. A king's word was the law of the realm, the only law his people knew. Fortunes could be made or lost, lives forever changed, depending on the disposition of the king.

That I should be included in this high drama sent alternating waves of dread and excitement coursing through me: What did the king want with me? What would he say? What would I say? I found it difficult to abide by Simon's dictum to relax; enjoying myself was right out of the question. We paused at the entrance to the hail, and Simon cast a

quick look at the sun. «They will begin soon,» he said. «We'd better go inside and take our places.» He checked my appearance one last time. «Too bad we didn't have time for you to shave.»

«Oh, sure, now you tell .me,» I mumbled, rubbing my bristly chin, suddenly self-conscious, and peeved at Simon for not taking better care of me.

We passed between the stone pillars, acknowledging the warriors loitering near the entrance-some called out to us, and Simon answered them. There was laughter all around. I guessed the joke was at my expense, but I smiled nervously and nodded. And we proceeded.

A huge, fierce-looking warrior stood in the entrance, imposing the proper reverence upon those who entered. At a word from Simon, the muscled giant moved aside to let us pass. There was no mistaking the glance of disdain he paid me as I passed beneath his sight; clearly he considered me no champion-killer. «That is Paladyr,» Simon explained. «Meldryn's champion. Great chap.»

The hall was cool and dark. When my eyes adjusted to the dim light which slipped fitfully through the slit windows, I saw what appeared to be a grove of trees-these were the great timber columns supporting the roof beams. Each column was carved with the endless knotwork of Celtic design. A gigantic hearth yawned cold and dark, like an open pit, taking up one end of the vast room. Opposite the hearth, a wooden partition enclosed the far end of the hall; this I took to be the royal quarters.

Before the partition stood a circular dais made of stone, around which stood seven iron poles from which seven torches flared. And upon the dais was a huge chair, which appeared to have been carved of a single massive piece of black wood. The wood was ornamented with innumerable gold disks bearing a spiral pattern. In the flickering light of the torches, the disks appeared to be revolving slowly. The illusion of movement made the chair seem a living thing-an animate object with its own power and will.

There were at least a hundred people gathered near the dais, standing together in small clusters, speaking softly. Some held objects in their hands-here a folded length of cloth, there an ornate weapon, elsewhere a fine bowl or dish-gifts for the king, I supposed. I wished I had brought something too.

I didn't have long to dither over this, for, as we took our places tO one side of the assembly, a loud, blaring note-like the blat of a ram's horn-sounded in the hall. From behind the partition stepped the king's bard, who ascended the dais and came to stand before us. He took a fold of his cloak and placed it over his head, then raised his hands. I saw that he held a long staff, or rod, the head of which gleamed darkly in the torchlight. Holding the rod lengthwise above his covered head, he began to speak in firm, somewhat threatening tones.

I tossed a questioning glance to Simon, who answered, «The Chief Bard is reminding us that the word of the king is law and that his judgments are absolute.»

When the bard finished, he took his place at the right hand and a little behind the king's chair. The horn sounded again and Meidryn Mawr himself appeared, a very Sun King: his clothing was immaculate, and his countenance brilliant. He was dressed all in crimson-shirt, trousers, and buskins. His golden fish-scale belt flashed in every facet; the rings on his hands glinted with gems. In addition to his torc, the king wore a crown, which appeared to have been made of oak-leaves and twigs dipped in gold. His dark eyes scanned the throng before him, confident and wise. The force of his presence filled the entire hail, drawing all attention to him; I could not look away.

When the king had been seated, Prince Meldron ascended the dais and draped a black bearskin cloak over his father's shoulders. The prince then bent to touch the instep of his father's foot, and withdrew to take his place with the other chieftains. I saw Ruadh step forward to stand beside Prince Meldron.

At a nod from the king, Ollathir raised his wooden staff and struck it against the stone three times. Then he pointed to the first of the petitioners, a tall, heavily built man of imposing mien, who stalked to the dais and stretched out his hands to offer his gift: a fine new bow and a quiver of silver-pointed arrows.

The king inclined his regal head in acceptance of the gift, and the man began stating his business. After listening a moment, Simon whispered, «This is Rhiogan of Caer Dyifryn, one of Meldryn Mawr's chieftains on the eastern border. He is asking for the king's permission to raid the Vedeii-that's a Cruin tribe-across the river.» Simon paused and listened some more. «It seems the Vedeii raided last autumn and stole some cattle. He wants the cattle back, and an equal number in punishment.»

The king heard this request, lacing his fingers from time to time. When Rhiogan finished speaking, Meldryn replied, asking a few questions which his chieftain answered simply, without elaboration. Then he turned to Ollathir, whispered something into his ear, and sat back.

Ollathir then spoke out the king's message to the chieftain. «What's he saying?» I asked, fascinated.

«He is relaying the king's judgment-permission to raid is granted, provided that the king receives a share of the spoils.»

«Is that fair?» I wondered aloud.

«It is not a matter of fairness,» Simon explained. «This way, if the king shares the plunder, he also takes responsibility for the raid-the blame falls on him. Then, if the Vedeii make trouble over this, they have Meldryn Mawr to answer to, not just Rhiogan.»

«So the king is authorizing retaliation in his name.»

«Essentially.»

The lord seemed pleased with this decision and mounted to the dais. He moved to the king, knelt, and, leaning close, placed his head against the king's chest-like a child seeking comfort from its mother. It was, despite the curious posture, a most poignant gesture.

The next petitioner was not one of Meldryn's lords, but a bard from a holding to the north, who sought permission to attend a gathering of bards in a neighboring realm. The request was, I learned, a formality observed not so much out of deference to the king, but out of respect for Ollathir-who would be attending the gathering in any case.

The third supplicant was a farmer from Meldryn's own holding who sought the king's aid in clearing a patch of bottom land, a process which included draining a bit of marsh. This was clearly beyond the farmer's capacity as he would need a great deal of help to get the land ready by planting time, which was rapidly approaching.

The king, through his bard, blessed the enterprise-for a modest return in kind-and offered the labor of fifty warriors under the direction of a Gwyddonto accomplish the task.

«What's a Gwyddon?» I asked Simon, when he had explained the situation to me.

«It's a type of bard. There are several different kinds, degrees actually~ From Penderwydd-that is the Head Druid, or Chief Bard-on down to Mabinog, which is a pupil or apprentice. The Gwyddon is an expert on anything to do with land or cattle; he's also the nearest thing to a physician around here.»

Wheels within wheels, I thought. Even simple societies had bureaucracies.

The next claimant stepped forward and an audible hush fell upon the throng. Those in the foreranks moved aside from the man; from the way everyone behaved, he appeared to be a criminal. Simon whispered, «This should be good.»

«Who is it?»

«It is Balorgain,» Simon replied with wicked glee. «He is a nobleman of Meldryn Mawr's lineage. He killed one of Meldryn's kinsmen in a fight, so he's been exiled for the last few years.»

«What's he doing here?»

«Watch and see.» Simon's eyes glinted with keen, almost malevolent interest.

The king regarded the noble with obvious contempt, although for his part I thought Balorgain seemed genuinely contrite. He stood before the king with his hands at his sides. The Chief Bard said something, a question. The man responded in a low voice. I saw the king's face freeze; the line of his mouth flattened, his eyes went hard.

«Balorgain's got guts, I'll give him that,» Simon said. «He might have been killed on sight.» «What's going on?»

«He has claimed naud of the king,» he explained. «It is-«

«I know what it is,» I whispered back. I had encountered the word before: a legal term for asylum, or refuge. Among the ancient Celts, a nobleman had the right to claim naud, or sanctuary, excusing him from a punishment. Interestingly, the claim of naud carried with it a moral obligation on the part of the king to grant it. By some obscure logic, for a monarch to refuse naud when it had been asked would transfer the guilt for the crime to the king.

Apparently, Balorgain had returned and slipped unseen into the court of exile, seeking naud. If granted, the crime would be forgiven and plucky Balorgain would be free to return to life among his people. Of course, Meidryn Mawr, who had decreed the exile in the first place, was not happy about this. But, great king that he was, he simply whispered the words to Ollathir, who pronounced Balorgain's claim of naud granted. And Balorgain strolled from the halla free man.

The next few cases were minor disputes between neighboring tribes-the most interesting of which involved an adulterous affair between a married woman from one holding and a single man from another. The complaint was resolved by requiring the single man to reimburse the cuckolded husband to the tune of three cows, or ten sheep, whichever the husband preferred. The wayward wife, however, did not escape punishment. For the husband was granted permission to take a concubine should he ever choose to do so.

Meidryn Mawr seemed to lose interest in the proceedings then, and scanned the room for some diversion. His eyes turned to where Simon and I stood waiting. He inclined his head in our direction, and Oilathir beckoned us to the dais.

«That's us,» breathed Simon. «Here we go.»

Simon led me to the foot of the dais. We had no gift, so we did not offer any. The king appeared not to mind. He gazed at me with, I thought, lively curiosity. At least, his bored expression disappeared as he looked me over from head to toe.

As the others had done, Simon introduced us with a brief description of events. At least, I assume that is what he did. The king replied and asked questions. Simon answered briefly. The king nodded, and I thought the matter would end there, for he turned to his Chief Bard and whispered to him. Ollathir listened, surveying me all the while. I expected the king's pronouncement to follow.

Instead, the Great King turned to me and beckoned me closer. I stepped nearer the dais, and Simon moved behind me. The king spoke to me. I smiled pleasantly. «What's he saying?» I whispered out of the side of my grin.

«The king wants to know how you caine here?» Simon replied calmly. «He understands that you do not speak the language, and has appointed me to interpret. You don't have to whisper, just answer him and I will translate.»

«Okay, but what do I tell him?»

«Tell him the truth,» urged Simon. «But whatever you tell him, do not hesitate. They consider even a second's hesitation the same thing as lying.»

I swallowed hard. The king examined me benignly. «Great King,» I said, «I am a stranger here. I have come to your realm from another world-through a cairn on a sacred hill.»

«Good answer,» said Simon, who then proceeded to translate for me. The king nodded without surprise, and asked another question, which Simon relayed. «He wants to know how you came to kill the Cruin champion.»

«Great King,» I said, «I killed the Cruin champion by, uh, accident. In the heat of battle, I found a spear and struck him when he attacked me.»

Simon, without hesitation, answered for me, and again relayed the king's reply. «He wants to know if you are a great warrior in your world.»

«Great King, I am not a warrior. I am the least among warriors.»

At this, when Simon echoed my words, the king's eyebrows lifted in surprise. «If you are not a warrior, what are you? A bard?» Simon asked in the king's stead.

«Great King, I am no bard.»

The king listened to Simon's reply, and asked, through Simon, «Are you an artisan, perhaps, or a farmer?»

«Great King,» I answered, «I am neither an artisan nor a farmer.»

Meidryn Mawr seemed genuinely puzzled by my reply. He said something to me in a tone of frank bewilderment. «What's he saying?» I asked, desperately.

Simon translated: «You do not fight, you do not sing, you do not plant or reap. What do you do, stranger?»

«What do I tell him? What do I say?» I hissed at Simon.

«Just answer!» Simon his~ed back. «Quickly!»

«Great King,» I said, «I read and write. I learn.»

«Oh, splendid,» Simon muttered, «that's torn it.» But he delivered my answer to the king.

Meldryn favored me with a frown of stern disapproval, and turned to Ollathir, and then to Meldron, who whispered something to him. Many of those around us murmured. «What's happening now?» I asked.

Before Simon could answer, the king spoke up. Simon interpreted: «The king says that he will not be mocked– even by a guest ignorant of Llywddi ways. You came to his court in a warrior's guise, a warrior you will become.»

«I can't!» I rasped in a panicked whisper. «Explain to him. We're not staying. We're leaving as soon as possible-we are leaving, Simon. As soon as we find a way to return to our own world, we're gone.» I pleaded desperately. «You've got to tell him, Simon. Make him understand.»

Simon said something to the king, who listened and then whispered into the Chief Bard's ear. Ollathir delivered the king's judgment in a voice bold with authority and grave with finality. When he finished, he cracked the rod on the stone three times and the llys was over. The king rose up from his judgment seat and withdrew. Those of us gathered in the hall filed slowly outside, where preparations for the victory feast continued.

«Well?» I said, as soon as we were out of the hail. «What did he say? What happened in there?»

Simon was slow in answering. «He did not see fit to withdraw his opinion,» he said at last.

«Meaning?»

«You're going to become a warrior, boyo.»

«He can't do that!»

«Oh, yes, he can do that,» Simon insisted. «He is the king.»

«But I don't know the first thing about being a warrior. I'll get killed. Besides, I'm not going to be here that long. Didn't you tell him we're leaving right away? We have to go back, Simon. You told him that, right?»

Simon hesitated. «Not exactly.»

«What did you tell him?» I was fairly shouting with indignation. People around us were watching me with amused expressions, apparently much entertained by my hysterics.

«Keep your voice down,» Simon warned. «They'll think you're questioning the king's judgment.»

«Damn right! I am questioning the king's judgment! That's exactly what I'm doing.»

«Don't,» Simon warned. «Not here-not in front of the king's hall.»

«I'll holler anywhere I please! Just what the hell is going on?» I demanded. Simon grabbed me by the arm and steered me away from the hall.

«The king considers that anyone who can kill a champion by accident deserves a chance to prove himself a champion. Since you profess yourself good at learning, you will learn the warrior's craft. It is really an honor he is paying you. Quite high, considering.»

«Considering what?»

«Considering you all but insulted him with your flippant answers.»

«My flippant answers! What are you talking about?»

«Not a warrior, not a bard, not a farmer-you made him look foolish in front of his chieftains. That was a very chancy thing to do.»

«I didn't mean to,» I protested. «I was only trying to answer his questions, like you said.»

«He knows that,» Simon explained, «which is why he didn't have your tongue torn out where you stood. I told you, it's really an honor.»

«Well, I won't do it,» I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest. «You'll just have to talk to him. Explain things. Work it ut. Maybe get his bard to help us.»

«Too late,» Simon replied. «You had your chance. The judgment is given. The king's word is law, remember?»

«Well, it stinks! Just what in blue blazes am I supposed to do now?»

Simon pointed across the grassy yard to where the horses were tethered. I turned to see Ollathir and a young man speaking to one another. The young man took the hem of the Chief Bard's cloak, raised itto his lips, and kissed it. Without a glance in our direction, Ollathir departed. The younger man quickly gathered the reins of two horses and proceeded towards where Simon and I stood looking on.

«He's coming this way,» I observed. «Simon, what's he doing?» Apprehension crept over me like a swarm of ants. «What's happening?»

Simon put a hand on my shoulder. «Calm down, Lewis. It's for the best.»

«What's for the best? Simon! What's going on here?» My voice scaled several registers. «You know-so tell me, damn it!»

«Listen carefully, Lewis,» Simon replied, speaking as one would to a distraught child. «Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You are going on a journey.»

«I don't understand. Where am I going?»

«You are going to Ynys Sci,» he pronounced it Ennis Sky, «that's an island-where there is a school for warriors. There you will be taught how to fight, and, when you have learned, you will return here to serve Meldryn.»

«Warriors' school! It's a joke, right?»

Simon shook his head solemnly. «It is no joke. Boys from all over Albion are sent to this school-the sons of kings and champions every one. I told you, it is a great honor.»

I was too stunned to speak. I stood looking on in mute despair as the young man approached and greeted Simon. They exchanged a few brief words, and then the youth turned to me and touched the back of his hand to his forehead.

«This is Tegid Tathal,» Simon told me. «He is a Brehon– that's another type of bard. He's Ollathir's right-hand man.

The Chief Bard has chosen him to be your guide. He has also been given the responsibility of teaching you the language.»

Tegid grinned at me and handed me the reins of one of the horses.

«Just like that-we're leaving?»

«Yes. Just like that.» Simon moved to the side of the horse. «Here, I'll help you mount.»

«This is crazy!» I muttered murderously. «I mean, this is seriously nuts! I don't belong here.»

«Relax,» Simon soothed. «Enjoy yourself. It is going to be an experience you'll never forget. It is a wonderful gift you have been given. I wish I could go with you-and I mean that.»

«Why can't you?»

«King's orders,» Simon shrugged. «But don't worry. I'll be waiting for you when you return.»

«Ha! If I return, you mean.»

«Oh, you'll return, never fear,» Simon assured me. «Tegid tells me the king has decreed that special care is to be taken– you are not to be killed in your training. There, you see? Nothing to worry about. Everything's been taken care of.»

Simon cupped his hands and made a stirrup. I raised my foot and he boosted me into the saddle. I say «saddle»-but it was little more than a leather pad over a folded cloak, with a strap to hold both in place. «Simon, listen to me. You've got to talk to the king. You've got to get him to change his mind. I mean it, Simon. We can't stay here. We've got to go back. We don't belong here.»

«I'll see what I can do,» he promised blandly. «In the meantime, try to take it easy. It's no use getting upset-just relax and enjoy it.»

The moment I was settled, Tegid vaulted into the saddle, wheeled his mount and began trotting away across the grassy yard. My own mount, an enormous gray beast, followed at a trot. «I can't ride a horse!» I hollered, clutching the animal's mane for dear life.

«Of course you can!» called Simon. «Good luck, Lewis!»

With that, we were off. People paused in their work and called out as we passed-wishing us farewell, I suppose. I turned and looked back when we reached the narrow gate of the caer and saw them waving us away. I frowned bitterly back, and realized that, thanks to Meidryn Mawr's wonderful honor of a gift, I would miss the feast.