Yay! Reviews! Reviews make me happy. More reviews make me write faster. (hint hint!)
I'm glad people like this story so far! Prydain is definitely my favorite fantasy series ever, and there deserves to be more good fanfiction based on it. So, I'm gonna try to throw in my bit.
Angharad – thanks! Ooer, you've got your own ideas. Now I've got to watch out and make sure I don't displease, lol!
CompanionWanderer – thanks so much for the doctor thing! I'm still kicking myself. Yeah, when I first thought of the pairing, it weirded me out a little bit too – but then I actually thought it through, and I realized that there were a TON of loose ends. So, here's my solution!
Sakura-chan79 – thanks! Glad you like it! And, here's more.
Disclaimer: it's not mine. I wish it was. Lloyd Alexander is the lucky dog.
Black Shadow, Golden Sun
Chapter 2: Blood in Annuvin
The great black birds of Annuvin screamed southwest, wind whistling over their great outstretched wings. Their cruel beaks sliced the air, and their black eyes held no warmth – only cold and death.
At length, the three huge creatures flew over earth that was black and cracked, split by jagged boulders and hills of stone. Before them loomed a black castle containing several dark buildings, from which other of their brethren screamed in iron cages, beating their wings against the walls of their prisons in rage. Several more whirled to and fro into the surrounding countryside, carrying out mission for their master as they had done for generations.
It had been ten years since the birds had seen the conquest of a wild horse by a young boy, in a city many leagues away.
The three gwythaints returning from patrol in the enemy's territory glided silently down towards the largest and most impressive building of all, which was guarded by silent sentinels, their dead flesh peeling away from the white skeletons. They were alive, but yet dead – their eyes saw nothing except darkness and chaos. The Cauldron-born made no sound as the gwythaints soared between them in through the open doors of the long hall. At the end of the hall, on a cold black stone throne, sat a woman.
At first glance, she seemed young – one would have to look closely at the silver streaks in her black hair and only then think differently. Yet her face was soft and beautiful, the refined oval shape complimenting her pale skin, interrupted by the heavy rouge on her lips. Both her luxurious gown and her eyes were black, and in her bound-up hair rested an iron crown, its sharp points making it seem almost as if the woman had horns. Despite her beauty, her expression was cruel and arrogant – her eyes were cold and mocking. She sat on the throne, reading a heavy scroll which rested in her lap.
Hearing the flapping wings of the gwythaints coming down towards her, the woman looked up, then wrinkled her brow in an unmistakable feeling of disgust. In another moment, the great birds alighted on the stone floor below the throne. The largest bird hopped forward, then began a series of strange cackles and clicks coming from its throat, bobbing its head towards the woman as it screeched. The woman seemed to listen intently for a few minutes, until the bird finished and fell silent.
With hooded eyes, the woman settled herself back against her throne, then jerked her head. The gwythaints screamed and took flight, vanishing to whence they had come. The woman sat in silence for some moments, then turned her head regally to the side, peering into a dark alcove. "You were listening, I take it?" her voice was smooth and alluring to the ear.
A dark shape showed itself from one corner of the hall – a short man, cloaked in black, with a curiously misshapen, sallow face. His hands jerked spasmodically by his sides as he advanced towards the throne. "But of course," he replied, his words slimy and sounding unwholesome as he limped awkwardly across the floor, which was inlaid with carvings of twisted forms. "Shape-shifting does have its advantages."
The woman sighed in angry exasperation, throwing the scroll from her as she stood, heedless of the heavy paper striking the ground with a loud thud. "Is that your intention, Arawn?" she demanded. "To be squashed like an insignificant beetle because you are so careless?"
The man shrank back, fear evident in his eyes. "I apologize, my Queen," he said tremulously, shaking hands coming to meeting point clutched across his thin chest. "I did not think, Achren – "
"Of course you didn't," the queen, Achren, retorted angrily, tossing her head in barely concealed rage. "When I chose you as my consort, I expected you to remedy these mistakes."
"Yes, my Queen," Arawn mumbled, bowing frantically several times. Achren turned away in dismissal, missing the sudden hatred which suddenly bloomed across the consort's face.
"Very well," Achren sighed, reseating herself on the throne with a lazy sigh. "What are we going to do about these three young noble upstarts who about to begin their voyage?"
"Yessss," Arawn hissed, standing up straight – or as straight as he could, with his hunched back – and scuttling closer to the queen. "The three young lords of Caer Dathyl will be beginning their journey soon. The two-year journey to enter manhood," he spat disdainfully. "Yet another of those foolish Don customs."
"Aye," Achren murmured, picking up her scroll and reading a few lines, bored. "Tell me of them."
A slight grin appeared on Arawn's face, and he rubbed his white hands together, back hunching even further. "Yes, my lady."
The first and oldest," he said loudly, "Is Morgant of Madoc, of twenty-two years. He is renowned for his skill in battle, and for his icy fearlessness. He cares not for revelry or frivolous times, and is keen to improve his own future. Only to his friends is he anything close to civil, and he treats all others with the cold indifference he does his enemies before he slaughters them." Arawn cleared his throat. "He should be easy to corrupt, my lady – the temptation of power shall seduce him, I am sure of it."
When Achren did not answer, Arawn blinked his hooded eyes and continued nervously. "The third, and the youngest, is Pryderi son of Pwyll, from the northern domains, of a mere nineteen years. He is almost the opposite of Morgant from what I hear – although his skills are formidable, he is loud, boisterous – many would say arrogant. He partakes often in useless sport with his servants by hunting in the forests near his home, and luxuriates in the comfort of his father's realm."
Achren turned her head slightly, though her eyes did not leave the scroll in her hand. "You skipped the second."
"Ah," Arawn said in a hushed tone. "That is because he is the most interesting."
Arawn had the queen's full attention now, for she had detected something strange in Arawn's tone – could it have been… fear? "Tell me."
"It is Gwydion, son of Math, the Prince of Don."
Achren's eyes narrowed. "Impossible," she murmured. "I remember when we received the news of his birth, and the death of his mother in bringing about his birth. The boy cannot be that old already."
"I assure you, my Queen, he is of twenty-one years as of last week. And a formidable young man. The time has certainly flown, has it not?" Arawn said, a faint, evil chuckle in his voice.
Achren's eyes narrowed even further. "Well, what is there to fear from a spoiled boy? Yes," she said as Arawn looked at her in surprise, "I can tell that you fear him. Do not forget, Arawn, your skills and knowledge are no match for mine."
Arawn coughed once into a white hand, as if seeming embarrassed, then resumed his narrative. "The boy received his emblem of Don a few days ago. He is strong of body, and sound of mind. He has excelled at his studies since his youth, and his noble bearing is said to exceed even his father's. He even tamed a wild horse from the Eagle Mountains when he had barely eleven years. He has shown a dedicated sense of duty, never wavering from his path as eventual heir to the House of Don." Arawn paused. "I must confess, my Queen, that in all the present information I have of him, I have found no weakness. He will be the ringleader of their little group when they leave, of that you can be sure."
Achren stood sharply and paced, her dress swishing around her as she walked. "We must find some way to break them up. When do they leave?"
"Three days."
"No doubt they will render visit to that fool enchanter Dallben," Achren hissed, her tone filled with a terrible malice. "But after that, who knows where they will go?"
She stood in silence a few moments, then turned to her consort. "Go, Arawn. Take a party of thirty Huntsmen and seek them out. But," she quickly continued, seeing the gleeful look on Arawn's face, "Do not kill them. You shall talk to them," Achren continued lightly. "You shall use the magical skills I used you, and you shall tempt them. Offer power to the prince of Madoc, and riches to the son of Pwyll. As for the prince of Don…" here her voice trailed away, and she stared off into the distance, deep in thought. "Watch his reactions to your other offers. If he does not yield, then use your magic." She whirled on Arawn, face eschewed in deep anger. "Take control of him. We cannot allow him to go free, he is of too great an importance."
"What shall I do once I have lured them into my nets, my lady?" Arawn asked, bowing so deep he was bent nearly double, his forehead perspiring even in the freezing cold room.
Achren gazed coolly at her consort, taking pleasure in the servitude he was so willingly showing. It made her simmer with pride – she was a queen, the most feared in all Prydain, and soon to be mistress of all of it as well. Annuvin was her kingdom. She was wearing her crown, her crown by right.
She smiled wickedly, revealing her sharp, gleaming white teeth. "You shall bring them to me," she said menacingly. "I shall be waiting for you in the Forest of Idris." She took a few gentle steps forward and lifted Arawn's head so he was looking her in the eye. "You will not fail me, will you?" she purred.
Arawn's thin lips lifted in a cold, humorless grin. Later, after she had bedded him and he was asleep, Achren found herself laughing aloud as the Cauldron-born ripped apart a screaming prisoner in front of her and the warm blood spread over the cold ground, the cold wind blowing into her like a knife.
Well, there's chapter 2! It's shorter, I know, but I hope it's good… reviews make me work faster, remember!