'The Night Market?' Iola repeated.
'Yes of course!' the woman said. Her smile was a touch too wide, her eyes glittering a little too brightly. 'Where else would you be?'
'But… how did we come upon this place?' The Princess asked.
'Well, something led you here,' the woman said with a flourish of her hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The vulture snapped its great beak. She turned to leave.
'Wait!' Rhys cried.
The old woman turn around, her countenance was a little more strained. The vulture beat its wings and stared its yellow eyes down at the companions. 'Would you hurry darling? I am meeting an old paramour of mine.'
'How do we leave?'
'I believe the way becomes clear for you humans when you've found what you've come here to buy.' With that, the woman turned around, making her way toward a market stall. The vulture snapped its beak at them and then twisted its naked neck around.
The companions all turned to look at one another.
'What are we supposed to buy?' Owain asked. His freckled cheeks were flushed in worry. 'I only have a few coins with me!'
'That's more than we have,' Iola added, nodding at Matilda.
'I'm not sure these… people deal in our currency,' Gareth said. His eyes flicked around the the different stalls. The customers seemed to be bartering with a wide array of goods. There were caged animals and talismans and long swatches of fabric in the most varied array of colours he'd ever seen.
Rhys held up the map, letting it dangle from the end of its chain. 'No!' Owain said, snatching it away. 'I won't let you.'
'What's more important?' Rhys' blue eyes narrowed at his younger brother. 'Finding a sword that likely doesn't exist? Or spending eternity in this place?'
'We should split into smaller groups,' Iola suggested. 'Perhaps that way we will find what we need more quickly.'
Matilda looked over at Gareth, about to suggest they split off together when Rhys said, 'I'll go with Matilda.'
She frowned, looking over at him. Her protest died on her lips when Iola said: 'Fine. We will meet back here one you've been through all the stalls on the north side.'
'How do you know which way is North?' Owain asked, folding his arms.
Iola pointed to the purple sky, 'The evening star looks to be the same.'
'Shall we?' Gareth asked, leading Owain and Iola away. 'The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can leave.'
Matilda bit her lip, surveying the vendors. She tried to think of an object that would help them escape this strange place. 'A key?' she said to herself.
'It is something we were missing before we came here,' Rhys said.
Matilda ignored him, sidling up to a stall that was selling leather goods. It looked to be the most familiar to her, as though it had been transplanted from Caer Dathyl's keep. She was drawn to the smell of beaten leather, the supple fabrics hanging from the roof of the little hut.
'Good evening, princess.' A man with grey streaked dark hair leaned over his table to greet her. He was a tall, burly sort of fellow.
How does he know? Matilda wondered to herself.
'You have a noble look about you,' the man said with a smile. A gold tooth winked back at her.
Matilda quickly broke the gaze, hoping her expression wouldn't betray her surprise. She paroused the selection of leather goods, even daring to run a finger along the length of a few swatches, before stopping at a pair of boots. They had been tanned to an impossible shade of grey with intricate braiding. She brushed her knuckles against a tassel.
'Beautiful enough for a princess,' the man said. 'The only boot worthy to grace your feet.'
'They are not my size,' Matilda said with a smile.
The vendor clicked his tongue. 'Not so, not so! They will fit anyone's feet. And they do not leave any footprints.'
Matilda could not resist picking them up and turning them in her hands. 'They cannot show you where to go? Lead the way somewhere, perhaps?'
The vendor narrowed his eyes, as though he were trying to remember something. 'No… no what you are asking for is very deep magic. But still, these may prove useful yet. On your way somewhere, are you?'
Matilda swallowed, thinking she'd better not answer, when she heard Rhys' voice behind her. 'We won't have enough coin to purchase these.'
'I don't deal in anything so common as that!' The man laughed heartily, as if it were impolite to even speak of money.
'What would you ask for then?' Matilda piped up, partly out of curiosity, partly to annoy Rhys.
'Well,' the vendor stroked his jaw, looking Matilda up and down, taking the measure of her. 'A maiden, yes? And from Royal blood.'
Matilda felt her cheeks heat. It was all the confirmation the vendor needed. 'A lock of your hair might buy you a looking glass. For a tooth you would perhaps find some beautiful trinket. For these,' he picked up the boots, 'I would ask for your first kiss.'
Matilda shrank back as if she'd been slapped. In the corner of her eye she saw Rhys holding back laughter.
'I won't consider it!' Matilda was attempting to channel the Queen's haughtiness, but the statement came out more like an indignant squeak.
'A Royal maiden's kiss is protective,' the vendor explained. 'It holds a goodly amount of power. Blessed is the person who receives it.'
'I am sorry,' she said. She began walking away when the vendor called out to her.
'I would settle on a bit of your breath!' He was leaning over the table.
Matilda looked over at Rhys, who subtly shook his head. She turned to the vendor, who held the boots up. The shine from the leather made them almost glow under the torchlight. Looking down, she surveyed the sorry state of her ruined slippers.
What was a little breath anyway?
'Alright,' she said.
The vendor's eyes sparked. 'Very good! Very good indeed. Step forward here, Princess and lean over my table.'
The man rummaged around his stall for a moment. Rhys came to stand beside her. 'Are you out of your wits?' he hissed.
Matilda stuck her nose in the air and harrumphed. Rhys waved her off and strode over to a different stall, his blue eyes flicking back to her every so often.
The vendor finally produced a small glass vial with a golden stopper. 'Now, Princess, come in closer.'
Matilda did as she was told, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea after all.
'Now, huff out a breath, like you would do when polishing a bit of silver.'
Closing her eyes, sucking in air through her nose, Matilda blew out a little breath, gasping when she felt it being sucked out between her lips. Leaping back, she covered her mouth with her hand.
'There, there!' The man said, carefully placing the stopper. 'I have a customer who will be very interested in this.'
He pushed the boots toward her, suddenly very distracted by the vial, murmuring something to himself. Matilda stumbled back, clutching the boots in her hands. The vendor disappeared behind a curtain.
After a moment, Matilda, heart still pounding, kicked off her slippers and slipped on the boots. As soon as her feet were in them, the leather seemed to mold against her skin. They were soft as the finest kid gloves she'd ever worn. Within seconds all of her misgivings vanished.
She could barely contain her smile when Rhys grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the end of the market.
'Iola might have found something,' he muttered.
Looking behind her, Matilda saw that where Rhys' soles were leaving treads in the soft ground, her own footprints were nowhere to be seen.
Iola was doing her best to arrange her face in a calm mask, but it was becoming more and more difficult as she walked from stall to stall. She tried not to stare at the strange arrangement of potions and tinctures at one, nor old man holding a flame in the palm of his hand. There were red-eyed creatures rushing back and forth, darting between tents and striking, what she assumed were business contracts, with firm handshakes.
Gareth and Owain walked a little ahead of her. She noticed the guardsman was keeping a hand on the hilt of his sword. A few of the small creatures stopped to stare at him, their wary gazes fixed on his prominent blade.
Iola sighed in frustration, leaning up against a bit of scaffolding. She was unsure how long they'd been searching for; an hour, a few minutes? Time seemed to pass in a strange way at this place, as though it were moving too quickly and not at all.
Iola shook her head, trying to rid herself of the odd feeling of it. Though she should have been making a concerted effort to search for what would lead them out of the Night Market, something was telling her what they were seeking was not an object that could be purchased.
'Ah,' a croaking voice said behind her, 'so the blood of Llyr has found its way back, has it?'
Iola spun around to see a hunched old woman in a homespun cloak smiling at her. She was missing a front tooth. Her dark eyes shone.
'Tell me child, how have you come here?'
'I was led here,' she replied. 'Through a tunnel.'
'A waypost, you mean?' The old woman asked. 'Indeed, what were you running from?'
'Mercenaries,' she answered. Iola was sure Gareth would have given her a stern talking to about divulging such information to a stranger, but in this moment Iola found she didn't care. 'They are from a foreign land.'
'True, true. It was bound to happen. The magic keeping Prydain safe has been fading for twenty some years, child. You should expect more attacks, now that foreigners are drawn to this land.'
'Whatever do you mean?' Iola asked.
The old woman frowned. 'Have you not been told the stories of old, child? How lacking your mother has been. This should be part of your education, as an heiress to one of the most powerful dynasties in the land.'
'The seat of the High King, you mean,' Iola replied. 'It is-'
'No, no.' The old woman was growing more frustrated. She waved her cloak about and stuck a bony finger in the middle of Iola's chest. 'The enchantresses of Llyr!'
Iola only laughed. 'I am sorry to tell you, my lady,' she began, 'but my mother gave up her magic long ago. Before she had me. The House of Llyr is no more.'
'Foolish girl!' The old woman shouted. 'You listen to old Morrigan. The magic remembers. As sure as the moon remembers the tides! As the sky remembers the stars before nightfall! Do you think these things are so easily broken?'
Iola was not sure what to say. 'But I-'
'That animal you came upon yesterday. It remembered.'
Iola's heart stuttered. Her cheeks grew hot. Yes, a voice said in her head.
'The thing that lives in your blood called to whatever lives in its blood.'
'How do you know of this?' she whispered.
The old woman cackled. 'And what you're seeking here,' she added. 'Only old Morrigan knows how to get you to what you want.'
'The sword?'
'Yes.' The crone turned a shrewd eye on the Princess of Prydain. 'The hair of a unicorn is a priceless prize, perhaps even greater than the one you seek. If you break the hair, it will grant a wish. If you give old Morrigan two hairs, I will tell you about the trials for the sword.'
'And how to survive them?' Hope surged through Iola, making her feel shivery.
'Ha! Would that I could, child! No one has survived them yet!'
Iola reached into her pocket, feeling the fine strands with her fingers. They were warm to the touch, as though they were living things themselves.
'Fine,' she said. 'It's a deal.'
'To survive the trials of the sword, you must survive a feat of strength, a feat of cunning, and a feat of spirit.'
'We know this already!' Owain interrupted. 'Iola you've made a terrible mistake.'
'Hush boy!' Old Morrigan scolded. She glared at him until he sat back down.
The companions had crowded around Morrigan's tent, which was on the outskirts of the market, near the edge of a very dark wood. Every so often a pair of glowing red eyes would appear between the dark tree trunks. Rhys was doing he best to ignore the shivers creeping up his spine.
'The feat of strength will have you fighting an invisible foe,' Morrigan explained. She waved a gnarled hand through the air, as though she were slashing at an enemy. 'And only the gallant challenger who looks inside, can defeat what lies beyond him.'
She had a fit of coughing before continuing. 'For the feat of cunning, you must name the first ruler of Prydain. The one who has steadfastly studied the lines of kings, but knows the truest ruler, the one who has surpassed all others for eternity, will be the one who passes unharmed.'
'The Sons of Don,' Owain answered. 'Belin.' Everyone hushed him.
'And then,' Old Morrigan was grinning her gap-toothed grin, 'the test of faith, no one knows. No one has survived to tell tale of it.'
'Well,' Gareth said. 'I'm not sure this information was worth the asking price.'
The old witch thumped a foot on the ground. 'Such insolence will get you killed boy!'
Rhys touched the pendant in his pocket. He drew it out. 'Pray, can you tell us how this works?'
Old Morrigan clicked her tongue. 'Ah yes. The Wayfinder. I have not seen this for a hundred years.'
She reached toward it and all the jewels at once began to glow. Matilda gasped.
'It should only be in the hands of an enchanter, a worker of magic,' she said. 'But, since I am banished from the human realm and the magic realm, what good would it do any of us? Reduced to hiding in shadows, skulking about disguised, belonging to not one or the other.'
When she drew her hand away, the jewels faded once more. 'It will only show the true desire of your heart, my dear Princeling.'
'You will address me as Prince.' Rhys' voice was hard. He was exhausted and tired and losing all patience with this strange place and its stranger patrons.
'It is a fitting title!' Old Morrigan reached forward with a quickness no could have predicted, and tugged on Rhys' ear sharply. 'And listen well! No soul looking for glory can ever hope to pass the first trial! You'll be swallowed alive by the mountain before the magic lets you near that sword!'
Rhys managed to scramble back from the crone, who cackled at the expression on his face. He frowned, brushing the front of his jerkin.
'What's all this now?'
The companions turned to see a dwarf standing a little ways off. He was sturdy, with red hair and redder eyes. He also seemed to be a cross sort of fellow, as though he were supremely annoyed to have happened across a group of humans.
'We are…' Rhys began to answer, but couldn't think of a good explanation.
'We didn't mean to come here,' Owain piped up. 'It just sort of…well it just sort of happened.'
'Oh yes! Just happened did it?' The dwarf said with a shake of his head. 'You clots! Do you have any idea how dangerous the Night Market is?'
When no one replied, the dwarf sighed heavily. He brandished a battle axe. 'Well come on then, I'll show you the way back.'
'Can we trust him?' Gareth whispered.
'Yes,' Iola said, and she appeared to be so certain that no one questioned it.
'You remember what old Morrigan said!' The crone called out to them as they turned to leave. 'Glory won't find you that sword!'
'Pay her no mind,' the dwarf said. 'She's as mad as they come. Not that you'll likely listen to me, will you? Oh no, not with those blue eyes, you won't.'
'Eyes?' Owain was incredulous. 'I don't see what our eyes have to do with any of this.'
The dwarf spun around, forcing the companions to skid to a halt. He seemed as though he wanted to say something, but decided against it. 'Oh never mind. In one ear and out the other with you mortals!'
He led them to the end of the market. Before him the mighty trees stooped, their great trunks groaning and splintering as they twisted themselves into a tunnel. The dwarf threw a beefy arm in the direction. 'Go on then. And don't come back!'
'My father, the High King-'
'Oh what will he do now?' The dwarf stuck a finger into Rhys' chest. 'Tell your father that Good Old Doli thought he was done saving humans nigh on twenty years ago. And he doesn't much wish to be employed at it again. Magic belongs here, you belong out there.'
Rhys opened his mouth, unsure what to say.
'Now go on!'
