 
War is coming to Ytir. Mal Petroc kidnaps Branwen, a child who is going to be used as a weapon. He's a traitor - but the truth is more complicated than that, as his daughter Arian realises as she chooses where her loyalties lie. Ytir will descend into chaos, and Branwen must learn to use her powers to keep the people she loves safe, and to find a way home.

Like Father, Like Daughter

by

Lesley Arrowsmith

76,500 words

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Lesley Arrowsmith

Smashwords edition, Licence Notes

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Arian

The castle was not large, but it was still bigger than Arian had expected, and once she had left her pony by the stables, she had no idea where she might find her mother. Everybody seemed to be busy, and nobody seemed to have any time to spare for her. She hesitated at the side of the courtyard, and then darted across to where two women in copper torcs and servant's aprons had just stepped out of a low doorway. "Excuse me - please - can you tell me where I can find Luned Valmai?"

One of the women pointed out another, bigger doorway, further along the edge of the courtyard. "Go up the stairs there, miss. I think she might be in the library today."

Arian smiled her thanks, and turned away - and stiffened as she heard the whispered comments.

"Is that the girl....?"

"...traitor's daughter...."

She never got used to it, but there were always whispers, every time she left the Dun \- and staying at the Dun wasn't much better. She held her chin up, and cut straight across the sunny part of the courtyard, instead of slipping round in the shadows, which was what she felt like doing.

She had been summoned, by her mother, who was here at the northern edge of Ytir working for Lord Cynan because he was the only person who would employ her after her father turned traitor and abandoned them both to deal with the aftermath together. No-one had known her on the road - she was just a girl with a harp case slung over her shoulder, and a silver torc that ensured she was respected, as long as they didn't know who she was. Here, everyone would know by the time she got to her mother's rooms, and they'd look at her when they thought she didn't notice them, and whisper, and wonder if she'd inherited her father's bad blood.

She took the stairs two at a time, feeling the unfairness of it all burning through her.

Luned Valmai was sitting at a desk under the biggest window, overlooking the inner courtyard. She would have seen Arian arrive if she hadn't been engrossed in the documents that were spread out in front of her. As Arian moved forwards, she looked up and smiled. "Good. You're here," she said. "I need to speak to you in private."

She gathered up the documents, and led Arian up more stairs, to a small room almost up in the attics. Arian slid into the room behind Luned, and shut the door behind her. Now she was here, she wasn't at all sure that she wanted to hear what her mother had to say.

Luned dumped the documents down on a chest, and sat down on the bed, waving Arian to sit beside her. "Did you have to bring that?" she asked, frowning at the harp case that Arian was putting down by the end of the bed. "You know I don't approve."

"I know - you don't want me taking after _him_ ," Arian said, "but I was on my own, and I thought I'd be safer carrying this." That wasn't the real reason, of course. She had brought the harp because she couldn't bear to be parted from it, even though it had a crack in the soundboard that was making it harder and harder to tune properly. But using it to keep herself safe on the road was a good excuse - nobody would molest a Harper.

"I've found him," Luned said, bluntly. "I've found your father. All those _yspridwch_ I had to hire, all that scrying - all that money I had to spend - it's finally paid off. I know where he is, and that _yspridwch_ girl with him."

She looked triumphant. Arian wasn't sure that she shared the enthusiasm. "So, where in the world...?" she asked.

"That's just it - that's why he hasn't been found before," Luned said. "He isn't in this world." She paused, considering. "Have you ever heard of a theory that there are other worlds beyond this one? Worlds that only a powerful _yspridwch_ could gain access to?"

Arian nodded cautiously.

"Well, that's what he's done - he's jumped across to another world. It was Cynddylan's idea - it's a hobby of his, trying to scry into different worlds. Your father appears to be working in a bookshop," she said, "and that girl - well, time must run differently there - she's grown. I think she must be older than you are now."

"But - she was only six, wasn't she?" Arian said. "And it was only last year...."

"Cynddylan thinks that ten years have passed where they are - I told you, it's a different world."

"So, what's going to happen to him?" Arian asked. "I suppose Lord Cynan will want to get him back?"

"Lord Cynan doesn't know yet - and you mustn't breathe a word of this outside this room, or to anyone who isn't me or Cynddylan. Don't you see, Arian? This is my chance to get back into favour at Court. If we can bring them back, it will show Morgannwg our loyalty - and he can use the girl all the better now she's older. I always thought that six years old was too young for what he intended her to do, however powerful she might have been. But now she's sixteen - she's old enough to understand what's required. In a way, Malcolm has done us a favour by taking her away - as long as we can get her back. And that's where you come in."

Arian nodded slowly. She thought that she hadn't been dragged halfway across Ytir just to hear this news - Luned wanted her to do something.

"I can't go, obviously. I'm needed here, and Cynan would notice if I disappeared. We want this kept secret - Cynan would just take all the credit and forget us. Besides, I have a feeling Mal wouldn't trust me if I turned up out of the blue. We were having - disagreements - even before he went off to collect the child."

Arian nodded. She wouldn't have called it 'disagreements' though - more like screaming arguments that had been painful to listen to.

"Cynddylan can't go," Luned continued. "He's too visible, and Mal never knew him, so he certainly won't trust him. The only person who can go," she concluded, "is you. He'll trust you - or I hope he will - and you won't be missed here."

"And if I do this \- then it will be war?" Arian asked.

"Then we can win back the Land for the Goddess," Luned said, "and I can get out of this dismal backwater back to Court, with the family name cleared - and you'll be able to have your pick of patrons."

It occurred to Arian that she wouldn't have to go back to Dun Gilfran - or if she did, it would be on her terms, and she wouldn't have to put up with that worm Geraint teasing her any more.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

Luned took her to see Cynddylan. His rooms were much closer to the rooms of Lord Cynan himself, in the main keep, with a fine view out towards the mountains. "We have our volunteer," Luned said.

Cynddylan looked up from the book he was reading. "Good," he said. Then he looked at Arian a bit more closely. "She's somewhat young," he said mildly.

"I'm fourteen," Arian said.

"Legally adult," Luned pointed out."I've explained to her what we need from her."

Cynddylan marked his place in the book with a pigeon feather that was lying on the workbench and put it to one side. "You understand that I have never done this before?" he said. "I've never made a Portal through to another world - there is a certain risk involved."

Arian nodded. "But you will be able to get me back - and the other girl?" she asked.

"I think that will be easier," Cynddylan said, "because you both belong to this world \- it will call you back." He delved in one deep pocket and pulled out a parcel of red silk. Inside was a small terracotta pendant on a leather thong. He took care not to touch it. "Keep this wrapped until you need to use it," he said. "I've been working on it so that it's primed to activate when you and the girl Branwen touch it together, and it will bring both of you back to the Grove here." He looked up at Luned. "We'll have to use the Grove," he said. "I'll need the extra power to send your daughter through in the first place, and it will be the easiest path to return by."

"That means involving the priest," Luned said doubtfully.

"It's all right - he's my cousin. We can trust him to be discreet - and we can trust him to keep anyone else away from the Grove while we wait for Arian to return." He bent down to open a drawer under the workbench. "You'll need to take this as well," he said. He handed her a bronze Mirror, ornamented with scrollwork and knotwork decoration. "Use it to get in touch with your mother - she has its twin."

Arian's mouth dropped open. She held her hand out for the Mirror hesitantly. "I - I've never used one of these before," she said. "Are you sure?"

"Don't be silly, Arian - how else could we check on your progress?" Luned said. "All you have to do is visualise my face in the Mirror, and concentrate. You are capable of concentrating for more than five seconds together, I hope?"

"Of course I can!" Arian took the mirror and slipped it into her pouch.

"And then there's this," Cynddylan went on, delving into his pocket again. This time he brought out a small velvet bag. He opened the draw strings carefully, and tipped a crystal out onto his hand. "Don't look into it," he warned. "This is for Branwen. If she's caught by the staring crystal, she'll be easier to control when she comes through the Portal. Try to make sure you're alone together, somewhere out in the open, and give her this to look at. When she's caught, use the amulet, and you should both be brought straight back to the Grove here. Then we can take her to Cader Ardry - I've already made my excuses to Lord Cynan for a leave of absence. I'll wait by the Grove for you - three days here should be around a month there, so that should be plenty of time for you to get to her. Is everything clear?"

Arian nodded again, and slipped the velvet bag into her pouch along with the mirror.

"Good - then I'll meet you at the Grove tomorrow morning, early. Until then, don't come talking to me again."

Luned took her out to the Grove as soon as the castle gates opened in the morning. The path led into a small woodland - here the Grove for religious rituals was a clearing somewhere near the middle of the wood, well screened by the trees. They left the horses at the priest's house, and walked the rest of the way. "You'll have to be more careful there about Cold Iron," Luned said, as they strolled up the paved way. "I dare say Malcolm has cleared his home of it, for himself and the girl, but you're likely to come across it unexpectedly in that world. From what Cynddylan's told me, there are a lot of differences between that place and the real world. I'm sure I hardly need to mention that you shouldn't use your Talent openly," she added.

Arian frowned. The more Luned told her about what Cynddylan had seen in his scrying bowl, the more confusing it sounded. Cold Iron everywhere ready to burn her if she touched it, people moving around in metal boxes without horses, strange clothing that they had not been able to duplicate for her - and though scrying was silent, the language was sure to be strange, too. The pitfalls seemed to be endless. In the cold light of early morning, what she was about to attempt seemed much more difficult than it had the night before.

She had been persuaded to leave her harp behind, too - she was supposed to be escaping great danger by the skin of her teeth, which was the story they had made up for her to tell her father - so it would look strange if there had been time to pack.

Cynddylan was waiting for them at the edge of the Grove, just beyond the shrine to the Goddess. There was a wooden archway at the western rim of the circle, made out of the sort of trellis that might support roses in a garden. It looked quite ordinary, but Arian shivered, just a little. The West was the direction that souls went when they died, and it reminded her that Cynddylan had said that the journey between the worlds was not without risk.

She could feel the power of the Portal from ten paces away - it must have been used a lot by _yspridwch_ coming and going between Lord Cynan and the Ard Ri. The hair on the back of her neck began to rise.

Cynddylan walked her across the clearing to stand on the inside of the circle, looking out through the archway. "I've done the preliminaries," he said. "I've marked out a place just outside the town for you to arrive at - there's a path by the river there. All you have to do is cross the bridge into the town. Look to your right, and you'll see a tower with a clock face at the top. Go to that, and up the hill, where the shops are. Malcolm Petroc has put his name right over his door. A sign of over-confidence, I think. He must believe that no-one will be able to find him."

Now that it came to it, Arian felt as if she was about to step off a high cliff with nothing to catch her on the way down.

"You're sure you've got everything?" Luned said.

Arian patted her pouch - then opened it, to check again.

"Then Goddess protect you," Luned said.

Cynddylan began to chant softly, under his breath. He brought his arms up, and swept them down in an arc - and the air within the archway began to change. First it wavered, like the heat above a fire, and then the trees beyond seemed to dissolve away, revealing other trees, and a path through a different wood.

"Quickly - while I hold it open," Cynddylan said.

Arian took a deep breath, and walked through. The air pushed at her, almost as if it were solid, and she pushed back. She could feel the gooseflesh rising on her skin, as the magic tingled around her. Her hair flew up in wisps. She was finding it hard to breathe. Behind her, she could hear Cynddylan gasping for breath, as if what he was doing required great effort - and then she was through, so suddenly that she staggered a few paces.

She looked back, as quickly as she could, but there was nothing there. The path she was on continued along the riverbank, and there was no sign of the Portal except for a slight tingling sensation where it had opened. She was on her own now.

Down to her left ran a broad and shallow river, and across the river there were buildings. She looked for the bridge Cynddylan had mentioned, and saw it through the trees ahead of her. It seemed immensely high and wide. She took a deep, calming breath, and set off up the path towards the bridge.

It wasn't far, but she stood for a minute at the edge of the trees, watching in alarm as a bright blue - box? carriage? - came down the hill faster than she had ever seen anything move in her life. It crossed the bridge, and she could feel the wind of its passing tug at her tunic.

She crossed the bridge, keeping as near to the metal fence along the edge of it as possible. There were low metal lumps between the pavement and the road, but Arian didn't trust them to keep the fast moving boxes away from her, and she didn't want to be any closer than she could help to another one. Then she passed a couple of big houses, and reached the corner, hugging the wall. The clock tower was there, to her right, just as Cynddylan had said - and she would have to cross the road to get to it, across the path of those hurtling monsters. Arian waited until a family walked past, and quietly tagged along behind them as they crossed the road quite casually. She caught herself holding her breath until she got to the other side. At the corner by the clock tower, she looked up the hill. There were impossibly big windows to the buildings there, filled with immense sheets of glass. Inside one, there were flowers. The next had a display of books - and across this much narrower street, where people were walking right in the middle of the road, was her father's name, over another window filled with books. She crossed over, quickly, and peered inside.

He was sitting at a desk, tapping at something with his fingers and looking into - some sort of Mirror? He didn't look much different, even though he was supposed to be ten years older, but his hair was a lot shorter \- and of course, he wasn't wearing a torc. There wouldn't be one, not after what he'd done, but it was still a surprise to see him bare necked like a foreigner. She rubbed at her own torc with one finger, and wondered if she should have taken it off - but then it was too late. He turned, and saw her looking through the window. She went in.

He looked - shocked. "What are - ? Arian? You - you haven't changed."

"It's been a year," Arian said.

"Just a year?" He shook his head slowly. "It's been - longer than that, here."

She shrugged. "Things are - crazy, back home. Dangerous. Mother found an _yspridwch_ \- she wanted to send me somewhere safe."

He had gone pale, now. "How did you find me? Who else knows I'm here?"

"Just mother, and Cynddylan," she said. "Nobody else."

"Are you sure about that? How did this Cynddylan find out?"

"I don't know. I just know mother paid him a lot of money. And he said he'd never done this before - sent anyone so far, I mean."

He shook his head again. "I thought we were safe here," he murmured. "After all this time, I thought they would have stopped looking for us - but - you said it hasn't been a long time, back home?"

The way he said that made her think that he hadn't thought about Ytir as home for a long time. "It's been a year - and thanks for nothing, by the way - everybody calls me 'traitor's daughter', and whispers behind my back, and mother had to go up north, because Lord Cynan was the only one who'd employ her after you... you...." She stopped, abruptly. She hadn't meant to say any of that, and here she was, with her fists balled ready to hit him, and - this was not what her mother had sent her to do at all.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He sounded almost as shaken as she felt. "If there had been any other way - " He got up suddenly, moved past her, and turned a sign round on the window of the door. Then he locked the door. "I don't think I want any customers coming into the middle of this," he said. "Let me make you a cup of coffee, and we can sit down together."

She nodded, biting her lip, and moved away from the door. As she did so, a small black and white dog uncurled herself from a cushion at the side of the desk and came to sniff around Arian's legs, her tail wagging. All of Arian's tension came out of her instantly, and she knelt down to scratch behind the dog's ears. The dog grunted with pleasure, and licked her nose. She smiled.

Mal looked round from where he was doing something with mugs and a kettle. "Islay's a good judge of character," he said. "And you were always a good kid - but I wasn't expecting anybody to find us here. As you can imagine, I don't really want to go back."

Arian knelt there, with her arms around the dog, and looked up. "Why did you do it?" she asked.

He sighed. "It's a long story. I'm not sure you'd understand - I'm not sure I really understood what I was doing while I was doing it."

He pushed a mug of something hot and brown into her hands. She sipped it cautiously. "Go on, then," she prompted.

"All right...." He sighed. "This is all a long time ago for me - I haven't thought about it in years. I suppose you know your mother and I were having arguments?"

Arian nodded.

"She supported Morgannwg, wholeheartedly, of course. I - wasn't so sure, but I was loyal, then. I knew how lucky I was to be at Court, with my background, and I didn't want to jeopardise that. But at the same time, I could see the flaws in the argument. War is never a good idea - and when it's war for an - an abstract vision...." He paused to take another sip of coffee. "This idea of recreating a Greater Ytir, after all this time, will never work, you know."

"But - the land belongs to the Goddess," she said.

"Even though the Occitan Dukes have been there for two hundred years?" he asked. "Even though the people who live on those lands haven't worshipped the Goddess for the best part of those two hundred years?"

"But -" Arian stopped. She couldn't answer that. "A lot of people disagree with you," she said. "A _lot._ People from the Great Families - important people."

"And how can I be so arrogant as to disagree with them?" he asked. "Well, I'm not, usually - but this time I thought I was right, and there were other people, also from the Great Families, who disagreed with the Ard Ri, and wanted peace - there just didn't seem to be enough of them. But I kept quiet, and did my job - and then Morgannwg chose me, of all people, to go off to this remote village where a little girl had been discovered with _yspridwch_ powers. Arian, she was six years old! She was the most powerful _yspridwch_ born for a generation, possibly longer than that, and with her powers under his control, Morgannwg could cut through the Occitan opposition like a knife through butter. There was no way that she could understand what he wanted her to do - and she would be responsible for thousands of deaths. When I first saw her, she was playing in the dirt with a scruffy old rag doll - and just working out that the other kids in the Dun were starting to be afraid of her. Up until that moment, I was going to take her back. After that, I just couldn't do it. I tried to explain to her that we needed to get as far away from the Ard Ri as possible - and not to one of the Dukes. They would have used her Talent just the same as Morgannwg wanted to, and there would still have been war. And not to the Empire either - the Emperor would have used her for schemes of his own. I had to get her right out of the situation - make her disappear. But I couldn't send her off into the void alone, so I had to disappear too. Someone had to be there to look after her while she grew up. She brought us here. And now you're here. Whatever am I going to do with you?" he asked. "You said it was dangerous - and I can't send you back, even if I wanted to." He scratched his head, just behind the ear, and sipped his coffee, and looked at her thoughtfully.

"I can't just abandon you," he said at last. "I'll have to take you in. You don't even speak the language here, do you?"

She shook her head.

He sighed again, drained his mug, and set it down. "Finished? Good. Come on then."

He opened the shop door again, and led her outside. There was a second door to one side of the shop, and he opened it. The dog followed them through, and up a staircase. At the top, he turned to the left, over the shop. "This is where we live," he said. He led her into a small room, overstuffed with furniture. There was a narrow bed along one wall, with a screen around it, and a chest at the end of it, and soft chairs - and other things that Arian couldn't put a name to. A fishing basket and a couple of rods were standing in the corner by the door, and there were books everywhere. Where there were no bookshelves, the walls were decorated with large maps. "Kitchen is through there," he said, waving a hand, "and bathroom that way - we have our own piped water," he added. "I'll show you how the toilet works later."

There was another door at the other end of the room. He didn't say anything about that.

"You'd better stay here for a while," he continued. "I'll have to go and borrow a camp bed for you."

He went out, taking the dog with him. Arian prowled round the flat restlessly. She tried the handle of the door at the far end of the room. It opened onto another bedroom. There were clothes piled in an untidy heap on a chair, and pictures on the walls that were lifelike enough to make her feel as if she was being watched. There were more books, and a clutter of jewellery and cosmetic pots on the chest of drawers. Arian was careful not to touch anything. She backed out, wondering how Branwen could sleep with that picture over her bed of a strange man, peering at her from around the door of a blue box.

She heard bells chiming outside, and Mal still hadn't returned. She went down to try the front door. It was locked. Arian went back up the stairs and curled up on one of the soft chairs. Her father had given her a lot to think about.

As Branwen stepped off the bus, the wave of anxiety hit her at the same instant as the bright sunlight. She screwed up her eyes and stopped dead, looking for her father. It wasn't like him to be so - unsettled - and it certainly wasn't like him to meet her off the bus. He should be in the shop at this time of day.

A gentle push between the shoulder blades brought her back to reality. "Are you going to let the rest of us off the bus?" Leanne asked, swinging her shopping bags.

Branwen stepped aside, trying to look apologetic.

"Having one of your psychic moments again?" Leanne asked, with a slightly catty grin.

"I was not," Branwen lied. "I just remembered - there's something I have to do. Catch you up later?"

"Okay," Sophie said, before anyone else could argue. "See you in Shepherds for coffee."

The three other girls set off across the zebra crossing and down Backfold, leaving Branwen alone by the bus stop. The bus was still there; it usually sat for about five minutes in Hay before it went on to Brecon. As soon as they disappeared behind its bulk, Branwen looked across to the doorway of the Tourist Information Centre, where her father was waiting for her. He stepped out into the sunlight as Branwen came towards him.

"So, what's wrong, Dad?" Branwen asked, as she reached him. "I mean, only little kids get met off the bus."

_"I need a serious talk with you, and I don't want you to go home,_ " he said. " _It's not safe._ "

"Dad - speak English, will you?" Branwen trailed behind him as he led the way to the bench on the edge of the craft centre's little garden. He sat down. It was quieter here, off the roadside, and for the moment at least, no-one was close enough to overhear them.

"I'm sorry," he said, switching back to English. "It was automatic. I've been talking in Tiraeg - and that's why I need to talk to you. My daughter Arian is sitting in the flat right now, waiting for me to go back."

"Your - what? What do you mean, your daughter?"

"How long have we been here, Branwen?" he asked seriously.

"In Hay? About ten years, I suppose. Why?"

"Because Arian was thirteen when we left Ytir - and she's only fourteen now. She says her mother sent her here. Branwen, if Luned knows where we are, then you are not safe. If Arian can get here, so can others - and they'll want to take you back."

"Not listening, Dad. Not interested in fantasy worlds. Destiny-free. Not the Slayer."

"No, but you are being bloody annoying, aren't you?" Mal snapped. "I'm trying to keep you safe. Now go round to Cassie's house and stay over with Sophie for a few days."

"You're not serious, are you? Okay - you _are_ serious, but.... Come on, it can't be that bad, can it?"

"In Ytir, only a year has passed," Mal said. "Morgannwg Ard Ri still wants his war - the war I brought you here to try to prevent. I thought we were safe. I thought everyone back home would have forgotten about the whole thing...."

"But you're saying that time's moving differently between the two worlds?" Branwen said. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised - think of Narnia."

"I want you to go with Sophie," Mal said. "Don't come home. Don't come near the shop. You were six when anyone in Ytir last saw you - I don't want Arian to know what you look like now. I'll gather up all the photos I can find of you and bring them round - and some clothes, as soon as I can without Arian knowing about it."

"You don't trust her."

"I daren't trust her. Not yet, anyway. I thought I'd tell her you were away on holiday - and I want you to make sure nobody can scry for you while you're with Sophie. You do remember how to do that, don't you?"

"You mean, hide my \- I don't know what to call it. Psychic signature? Call sign?"

"Something like that." He smiled slightly.

"Sure. I can do that."

"Good. When I think it's safe again, I'll let you know." He got up then, and clicked his tongue to get Islay's attention - she had found half a pasty in the bushes, and was just finishing it off in a shower of pastry crumbs. "I have to get down to Cassie myself," he continued. "I need to borrow a camp bed from her."

"Okay - you set off first, and I'll go round the other way and meet the girls in Shepherds," Branwen said. "And, Dad? It will be all right, won't it?"

"I'm sure it will all be fine." The insincerity of his cheerfulness was obvious, even if she hadn't been able to detect the real emotions beneath his smile. He was more than anxious - he was genuinely afraid, and that scared her. Mal had never been really frightened of anything, as long as she'd known him.

"So what's all this your Dad's been telling me?" Cassie demanded, almost as soon as Branwen was through the door.

"Just what did he say?" Branwen asked cautiously.

"Oh, just that you two are asylum seekers from Narnia and the bad guys have tracked you down." Cassie was just ahead of Branwen, talking over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "You will have some of our Earth lemonade?"

Sophie, behind Branwen, rolled her eyes.

"At first, I thought your Dad had been reading too much of his own stock - all that science fiction is bound to addle your brains eventually," Cassie continued, bringing glasses down and pouring lemonade as she spoke. "And, let's face it, there isn't a bookseller in Hay who's entirely normal." She passed the glasses round and sat on a wooden kitchen chair that was half sanded down for repainting. Branwen perched on the end of a bench by the kitchen table beside Sophie and sipped at the lemonade warily. Her green silk blouse was clinging to her back damply, and for the first time she could remember, she felt awkward about looking into Cassie's eyes. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Cassie leaned back in the chair and watched her.

"It isn't Narnia," Branwen said at last, in a small voice. "It's Ytir. And he's not really my Dad."

"And neither of you are exactly normal," Cassie said, raising an eyebrow at Branwen's second revelation. "Your fath- - Mal - lit candles from right across the room, just by thinking about it. That's what convinced me. What can you do?"

Branwen exchanged glances with Sophie, and it was Sophie who answered. "Mind reading, picking up emotions, stuff like that."

"And you knew about it all along, didn't you, Sophie?" Cassie said, turning a disapproving gaze on her daughter. "You might have let me in on the secret, you know."

Sophie shrugged. "Mum, I've known Branwen was - odd - since I sat next to her on my first day at Hay School. It's just not something you tell mums about."

"And all this time," Cassie said, "I just thought Mal was clueless about being a single father. And - I don't know - kind of unworldly in a sweet sort of way. Naturally impractical. It never occurred to me that he was _other_ worldly. Now I do know - well, I can see all the clues laid out over the last ten years. I'd just never thought of putting them together before."

"You helped us a lot," Branwen said. "I don't think we could have managed as well as we did if you hadn't been Dad's friend. I just hope that we can stay here."

"Well, you can stay _here_ just as long as you want," Cassie said. "But that isn't what you meant, is it?"

Arian jumped as she heard the front door open. Mal came clattering up the stairs, with the dog almost under his feet, carrying something big and bulky that looked nothing like any bed that Arian had ever seen. "I suppose I'd better set this up in Branwen's room," Mal said, surveying the lack of floor space in the main room. "Come on through."

Arian followed him into the bedroom, and perched on the bed while Mal wrestled with the camp bed. It folded out, and had a mattress slung on springs.

"Dad." Arian began cautiously. She wasn't sure what to say to him, but felt that she ought to say something. The dog jumped up onto the bed next to her, and nudged her until she took the hint and started scratching behind its ears.

He finished draping a blanket over the metal framework of the camp bed and rocked back on his heels, looking at her seriously. "You've heard my story," he said, when she didn't continue. "Now it's your turn."

Arian looked down at her hands. She had gone over this with Luned, and had the story well-rehearsed in her mind. The trouble was, only part of it was true.

"The Ard Ri was furious when you disappeared," she began. "Mother sent me back to Dun Gilfran, to grandmother, but - they put her to the question. They couldn't believe that she wasn't in on it - they thought you must have planned it together and they wanted to know where you'd gone."

Mal winced. "I didn't think of that, at the time," he said, "because it wasn't planned, and I didn't know where we were going to end up." He paused. "She must hate me, for that."

Arian hadn't seen Luned when the _yspridwch_ had finished sifting through her mind - but Mal was right. Luned did hate him for putting her through that mental torture.

"When they realised she didn't know anything," Arian continued, "they sent her up to the northern border, to Lord Cynan - where she'd be well out of the way. He was watching her, too, in case you tried to get in touch. And they kept scrying, of course, to find out where you'd gone."

She paused. The dog was trying to climb on her lap. She pushed it gently away - it gave her another good excuse not to look at Mal while she was telling the story. She was coming to the made up part, the part that was supposed to convince him to trust her. "Then they thought - if mother didn't know anything - maybe you'd told me. Grandmother got wind of it - she still has friends at Court - and she sent me off to mother before they came for me. You see, mother had an idea that the _yspridwch_ were looking in the wrong place for you. She met an _yspridwch_ who could look into different worlds - and he sent me through to you."

She risked a quick glance up. Mal had gone quite pale. "I never thought that I was putting you in danger," he said. "Please believe that. Luned - well, she can look after herself. She's always been able to talk her way out of anything - but if I'd thought about you.... I am truly sorry, Arian."

She looked up properly then. She believed him. More importantly, he believed her. She was almost sorry she was deceiving him.

Something else was worrying him, though. "So - Luned and this _yspridwch_ know where we are? If they're made to talk...."

"Mother wouldn't have sent me if she thought there was any danger of that," Arian said. "And Cynddylan can block her knowledge, so she can't tell. They won't get it out of Cynddylan against his will, either. I think we're safe."

Branwen was slumped in front of the TV in Cassie's living room, half-watching an old episode of Deep Space Nine while she and Sophie dissected the questions they'd been asked in the history exam. She was beginning to think they had both failed abysmally; her only consolation was that there were only a couple more exams to go - and her course work had been pretty good, considering.

Then they heard the knock at the door. "That's Dad," she said, without even needing to turn round, "and he feels relieved."

Islay bounced into the room and ran up to Brock, the Hungarian vizla who belonged to Cassie. They ran once round the coffee table together, and Cassie opened the kitchen door and shoo-ed them through.

Mal was looking a lot more relaxed now. "I left her eating pizza," he said. "I said Islay needed to go out for a pee."

"And?" Cassie asked.

"I think it's going to be all right," he said. "I think there's only a small possibility of anyone coming here after Arian to get us back."

"So I can go home?" Branwen asked. "I mean, I'm supposed to be revising - we've still got a few exams to go, and all my books are at home."

"If you don't know it by now, it's probably too late," Cassie said, smiling.

"Yeah, but...." Branwen and Sophie spoke simoultaneously, and stopped, and giggled.

Mal sat down on the sofa next to Cassie. "I think it's safe," he said.

"We could make sure," Branwen said. "I could do a mind-meld on her to find out - 'my mind to your mind'," she intoned, putting her hand up to Sophie's head in the same way that Spock did.

"No! It'll hurt her."

"But I'll be careful," Branwen protested. "I mean, I do it all the time."

"Surface thoughts, emotions - the stuff that is easy to get at," Mal pointed out. "But to delve down to get specific information - that always hurts. That was what they were going to do to Arian, to see if she knew where we were - that's why her mother sent her here."

"It's starting to sound as if the place you came from isn't too concerned about human rights," Cassie said. "They'd seriously read your daughter's mind to find out where you are?"

"Yes, and they wouldn't be too concerned if they hurt her," Mal said. "They did it to my wife, who didn't know anything. Think Bester in Babylon 5 - or the Klingon mindsifter."

"Oh. I suppose...." Branwen thought about it for a minute. "Yes, I can see how it would hurt someone if they didn't want to co-operate."

"Or even if they do," Mal said. "You mustn't even try, Branwen. I'm serious."

"Even though she might be hiding something?"

"Even so. I'd rather take that chance." He thought for a moment. "There is something you could do, though," he said. "She doesn't speak English. This _yspridwch_ who got her here has been scrying - and scrying is always silent. So Arian doesn't know the language, or how anything works. I think you need to give her that. Give her a chance to blend in."

Branwen nodded. "I'll try. I've always taken it before - and without anyone realising." She grinned. "I'll just have to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow!"

"Yes, well - sonic screwdrivers at the ready," Mal said. "Are you coming home now?"

Arian uncurled herself from the corner of the soft chair when she heard the front door open. That sound was followed by a thundering of paws up the stairs, and Islay burst into the room, grinned manically, and jumped on her lap.

_"It's a good job that dog's default position is 'I love you'."_ Arian looked up, got her arm between her face and the dog's tongue - and saw the person she'd come to take back to Ytir.

Branwen was almost as tall as Mal, and her dark hair was cut to shoulder length, with a floppy fringe. She was wearing a green silk top with blue trousers - and she didn't look like a powerful _yspridwch_ at all.

" _Now, be fair - Islay is a very good judge of character,"_ Mal said, in English. "Arian, this is Branwen," he continued, switching to Tiraeg. "You'll be sharing her room - so I hope you'll get along with her."

Branwen smiled. "Hi - oh, this is hard. I haven't spoken Tiraeg for so long."

"Well, we'll see about remedying that, so you won't need to, shall we?" Mal said. He sat down on the arm of the chair beside Arian and looked down at her. "It seems we're stuck with you, doesn't it?" he said. Arian felt the sudden urge to burrow into the cushions behind her and disappear. "So, we need to do something to help you fit in here," Mal went on. "You need clothes, obviously - and you need to be able to speak the language, and understand what's going on around you. Fortunately, there's a shortcut to all that knowledge."

Arian looked from him to Branwen. "You want to go into my mind," she said in a small voice.

"It's all right - I promise I won't hurt you," Branwen said. "It's just so you can - rats! Dad, I can only speak like a six year old in Tiraeg!"

"It's just to give you the language," Mal said. "She won't pry, or look at anything else in your mind. But we need to do this - we have to pretend that you belong in this world. When someone turns up out of nowhere, and doesn't speak the language - questions would be asked that I can't answer truthfully, because no-one here would believe the truth."

"All right, then." Arian sat up straight, and the dog wriggled round to lie on her lap. She looked up at Branwen, who came to kneel in front of her.

" _Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow,"_ Branwen murmured, with a quick grin at Mal. She put her hand up to cradle Arian's cheek. _"My mind to your mind...."_

....and Arian started to _know_. Words formed, and images, and she understood about cars, and the computer that her father had been typing on when she first saw him, and that the books he sold were science fiction and fantasy - and what those words meant. She knew that the man in the poster on Branwen's bedroom wall was the Doctor and David Tennant at the same time, and what TARDIS meant, and that London was the capital of England, and where to buy the best ice cream in Hay, and how to get to Hereford on the bus....

"I think that'll do," Branwen said - and she was speaking English, and Arian could understand her. "Speak to me - did it work?"

"I think so," Arian said, and her mouth felt odd when she spoke, because her muscles were moving differently to form the new words. "I feel - wierd - as if.... I think my head's going to explode!"

She felt Mal's hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right," and he was speaking English, too. "I felt a bit overwhelmed the first time it happened to me. You just need some time to process it all." He nodded towards the bedroom. "What she needs," he said to Branwen, "is bed. Come on, love; you'll be all right in the morning."

*****

Truth and Lies

The first thing Arian did when she woke up was to slide her hand under her pillow to where she had stuffed her pouch before she fell asleep - though it had been more like 'unconscious' than 'asleep'. Her head had been full to bursting, and so heavy, and all she had been able to do was to let Branwen help her into bed and leave her there. But she had been aware enough to take care of the pouch, with the Mirror and the staring crystal and the amulet in it. She'd have to find a better hiding place for them very soon.

There was no-one else in the flat when she staggered to the toilet. The clock on the kitchen wall said a quarter past eleven, and as she noticed that, she heard the bells of the clock tower down the road strike the quarter hour. She knew that the shops would be open, and there would be tourists walking around - and just beneath all this new found knowledge was the memory of yesterday, when she hadn't been able to read a clock face, and nothing had made much sense.

Back in the bedroom, she held up her tunic, and knew that she couldn't go outside wearing it. She had slept in her undershirt, and the trousers would just about be okay - but Mal had been right. She needed clothes. She needed breakfast, too, and decided to try the cornflakes that were in the corner cupboard by the sink. Part of the knowledge that Branwen had released into her mind was where everything in the kitchen was kept. She found the bowls and spoons as if she'd been living there for years, and she wasn't surprised when she opened the fridge for the milk and noticed how cold it was inside.

She wasn't terribly impressed with the cornflakes, but she made coffee after that, and went back into the living room to drink it.

This hadn't been what she had expected at all. She wasn't sure what she had expected but - he'd just been Dad, a bit older and quieter, but still Dad, like he'd been before he and mother started having those terrible arguments. She'd thought he might be different somehow, now he was a traitor. She'd seen him through Branwen's eyes now, too. Branwen called him Dad, as well, and he'd been looking after her all this time, and they felt as if they belonged together. Arian was the odd one out now, the one who didn't belong - the one who was going to betray him. She didn't like that thought at all. It had all seemed so straightforward back in Ytir - but now he'd told her his side of the story it didn't seem anything like as clear cut any more. An image surfaced in her mind - Edmund, heading towards the White Witch's castle in Narnia, intending to betray his brother and sisters for promises of Turkish Delight and being a prince. She shuddered. She didn't want to be like Edmund.

"Good, you're up and about." Islay jumped up on the sofa beside Arian and nosed her mug out of the way so she could lick Arian's face. Mal was just behind her, at the top of the stairs. "And you're working things out, I see," he added, indicating the coffee mug. "I thought I'd better check on you."

Arian sat up straighter, dislodging the dog. "Check up on me? Why?"

"Well, you looked pretty wiped out last night," Mal said.

"Oh, right." She managed a smile. "I think I'm getting it all worked out," she said. "Can I go out yet?"

"You haven't really got any clothes yet," Mal pointed out, "but I daresay Branwen wouldn't mind if you borrowed one of her tops. Fancy taking the dog for a walk down the railway bank? I have to get back to the shop."

Islay obviously knew exactly where she was going. All Arian had to do was follow her, across the road at the Three Tuns to the bridge, and then onto the path that went under the bridge and left, under the trees and towards the Warren. Arian strolled along the broad path until she found a bench to sit on, and opened her pouch. Islay paused near her to investigate the bushes up the bank. Just ahead, and down a steep bank, Arian could see the river gleaming silver in the sunlight. It was very peaceful. Sighing, because what she was about to do would be rather less peaceful, Arian dug into her pouch and extracted the Mirror.

It took only a moment to visualise her mother's face, and hardly longer than that before she could see Luned looking up at her from the Mirror.

"You took your time," Luned said. "What have you been doing?"

"It's been more than a day, here," Arian said. "And Dad didn't introduce me to Branwen until late last night. He didn't trust me straight away, but I think he does now."

"So, where is she now, the _yspridwch_?"

"Not here," Arian said. "She goes to some sort of school in the next village, and she was gone when I got up this morning. I'll have to wait until she comes back before I can do anything."

"Don't leave it too long. We can wait around here for two or three days, but after that people will start to talk."

"I'll do my best, mother." She broke the contact as another dog walker passed by the bench.

"Are you one of Islay's fan club?" the woman asked. Her dog was up in the bushes, greeting Islay in the usual dog fashion by sniffing backsides.

"Sorry?" Arian stuffed the Mirror in her pouch before the woman noticed it.

"Islay seems to have a lot of friends who walk her while Mal minds the shop," the woman said.

"Oh, yes - I just arrived yesterday," Arian said.

"Lovely place, Hay. I hope you like it."

"Thanks." She sat back as the woman walked on - she felt a bit wobbly, but her first conversation, in English, with someone from this strange world, seemed to have gone quite well.

She wasn't so sure about her mother, though. How did she confess thedoubts she was having to Luned?

When she got back to the shop, Mal took possession of Islay and sent her upstairs. Branwen was back from college.

"You can take my mind off the appalling car crash that was my last exam," Branwen greeted her. "Come on, let's hit the charity shops - dad's given me some money."

Arian's new memories identified charity shops with cheap clothes - and Branwen seemed to get a lot of her clothes in them.

"More variety," Branwen said cheerfully, leading the way down the stairs. "Who wants to look like a fashion clone?"

"I don't know," Arian said, "and - did you just read my thoughts?"

"Oh, sorry - it was just on the surface. I thought you wouldn't mind."

"I do mind." Arian thought, hard: _Stop it! Get out of my head!_

Branwen held her hands up in surrender. "Okay, sorry - I won't do it again. Don't get annoyed at me - I've had a hard morning."

Arian managed to glower for a full five minutes before she got distracted by the rails of clothes in the Red Cross shop - and then she started enjoying herself.

"I take it from the number of bags that you've had a successful mission?" Mal asked. "Have I got any money left at all?"

Branwen handed over the last tenner with a flourish. "The shoes were the hardest," she said, "but we managed to find some cheap canvas ones at Nepal Bazaar - see, with the little bar across? They'll do for now, and that man with the towels might have some tennis shoes on the market again this week."

Arian disappeared into the bedroom with several of the bags - and came out transformed. Jeans, a light top with a picture of a horse's head on it (that was only a little bit baggy), and a leather jacket.

"That was a real bargain," Branwen said, "because it's a small size."

"I like the fringes," Arian grinned.

Mal grinned back. "I think you're going to fit in fine," he said.

The next morning, Arian was awake at what, for her, was a completely reasonable time, and to Branwen was impossibly early. Still, she had to roll out of bed and get off for the school bus - which left Arian at something of a loose end. They had watched videos the night before, so Arian now had a working knowledge of the various crews of the Starship Enterprise - and tonight she'd been promised a Buffyfest. "And Angel, possibly - probably," Branwen said, before she dashed out of the door. "Angel is also cool. And then we'll start on the Who."

"The What?" Arian asked, knowing that this was the expected answer.

"The Who! Lots of lovely David Tennant!" and Branwen was gone.

Mal looked up from his toast and marmalade. "I've been thinking," he said. "I can't leave you twiddling your thumbs all day, Arian. How would you like me to get you some reading matter?"

She stared at him. "You mean books?" she asked. "Of my own?"

He grinned. "This is the Town of Books, after all, you know. There's even an open air bookshop where they just sit outside until they get mouldy and then get thrown away."

There was a memory of that in Arian's mind - the Honesty Bookshop. "They throw books away?" she asked, horrified.

"Only the unreadable ones," Mal assured her. "And it's not as if a scribe's spent months of his life copying them. Books are produced very rapidly here, and very cheaply. I'm not being nearly as generous as you think I am."

"Still, books of my own," Arian said, entranced. "Yes, please!"

The Children's Bookshop in Backfold opened before Mal usually did, so they started off there. Before they went in, though, there was an important stop to make on the way. Islay trotted straight into Country Supplies and sat down beside the box of pig's ears. "She never takes one - she always waits to be offered," Mal said. Arian bent down to pick one out, and Islay took it delicately in her teeth and trotted outside with it. Mal put the money down on the counter as they passed, and they followed Islay down into Backfold. Arian looked around, taking in the green plastic tables that two women were putting outside the Sandwich Cellar, and the brightly coloured flags fluttering around the doorway of Nepal Bazaar. Further along, a tall wooden statue of a man looked as if it was having a pee against the wall. Arian made no attempt to even try to understand what it was doing there. The dog selected a spot in the sun in the middle of the path and settled down to chew. "That's her sorted out," Mal said. "Now it's your turn."

When she had first stepped into Mal's shop, she had been concentrating on him, not the books. This was the first time she had really taken notice of how many books there could be in such a small space. Picture books crowded the shelves near the desk, and rows of paperbacks stretched away down the shop. She had never seen so many books in one place in her life.

"Hi, Kim," Mal said. "Looking for holiday reading,"

The woman behind the counter looked Arian up and down thoughtfully. "What sort of things do you like?" she asked.

Arian shrugged. She had no idea what might be on offer.

"Boyfriends? High Schools? Vampire romance?" Kim tried. Arian shook her head. "Something from the classics? Nancy Drew? Pony books?" Arian showed a spark of interest, and Kim pointed to the bottom of the shelf by the door. "Try down there." She smiled at Mal. "We put the teenage books by the door so they don't feel too embarrassed about coming all the way in," she said.

Arian knelt, and eased a book carefully off the shelf at random. The picture on the front showed a blonde haired girl riding a horse down a country lane.

"Oh, Ruby Ferguson's good," Kim said. "And if you like those, there are the Pullein-Thompsons too."

Arian pulled a couple more books off the shelf and scrutinised the back covers. She looked up at her father. "How many of these can I have?" she asked.

Mal raised an eyebrow at Kim. "I think we've found the right thing," he said. "Discount for bulk purchase?"

"You're trade, and you're local," Kim said. "Of course there's a discount."

A day of reading, with occasional breaks for walking the dog, on her own, left Arian feeling bored. Window shopping was no fun without Branwen, and Mal was busy in the shop. She didn't quite feel ready to attempt to work the DVD machine yet. All that time, she had been aware of the harp case tucked into a corner beside Mal's bed - but she hadn't dared to touch it.

"Sausage and egg for dinner?" Mal asked. "I got some Welsh Dragon ones from Chris Gibbons."

"They're not really dragons, are they?" Arian asked.

"Pork, with spices," Mal said.

"Yum," said Branwen. "Shall I cut the bread?"

They both disappeared into the kitchen, and Arian followed them, just to watch. Branwen was cutting the bread with a Tiraeg bronze dagger - and she buttered it with a little wooden knife. The cutlery was a mixture of silver plated stuff, some with crests on the handles, or the names of hotels, and cheap plastic. Mal prodded the sausages with a silver plated fork and slid them under the grill. Then he broke six eggs, one by one, into the frying pan.

Arian wondered about that. Why had they come to this world, where Cold Iron would still hurt them, but they couldn't use any of their Talents openly? She couldn't see the sense of it - Branwen was supposed to be the most powerful _yspridwch_ for a generation, and all that power was being completely wasted.

"How about some music?" Mal asked. He was turning the sausages over. "Come on, Arian, do something useful - put that Alison Kinnaird CD on."

Arian slipped it into the machine and started it off. Harp music filled the room, proper harp music like the Harpers played at home. The sound of it gave her the courage to ask. "Dad, do you remember giving me harp lessons?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "I seem to remember you were quite good. How are you getting on?"

"I haven't been able to practice properly, not since you - left," Arian said. "Mother didn't approve, and then she sent me to grandmother, and she _really_ didn't approve."

Mal turned away from the stove, looking concerned. "Valmai never liked me," he said.

"Uncle Nuadda, who looks after the horses, got me an old harp to practice on, but it's got a crack in the soundboard, and it's really hard to tune, and I could only play it if I took it out of the Dun - and then mother wouldn't let me bring it here. She said there was no time for packing anything." She took a deep breath. "So - I was wondering...."

"Ah - you noticed my harp," Mal said. "I'm sorry - I should have thought to offer. Since I got the shop I haven't practiced nearly as much as I should."

After dinner, he swung the harp case over the back of the bed and opened it up on the floor in the middle of the room. "How about showing me what you can do?" he asked. "Come on, you can tune her for me."

Arian reached out hesitantly and touched the smooth wood of the harp's neck. It was old, but in beautiful condition, just as she remembered it. The wood was polished to a rich chestnut sheen. "You're sure, dad?" she asked.

Mal stepped back and sat down in the armchair. "Go ahead," he said. "If you have any problems, I'm just here."

She smiled, blissfully, and touched the gut strings lightly. Then her head was down over the pegs, and she almost forgot that Mal and Branwen were there as she went to work, completely caught up in the process of preparing the harp to play.

She tried a scale, frowned slightly, and minutely adjusted one of the pegs.

"Be careful with that one. It can slip a bit," Mal said.

She looked up, suddenly aware of him again - and realised that he'd been itching to interfere, but that he hadn't. There he was, trusting her again, when she wasn't sure she was worth it.

"I think that's all right," she said, turning the peg slightly. She tried the strings again. "Oh, this is so much better than that old thing I was practicing on before. I've really missed this."

"Petroc Douglas appreciated quality," Mal said. "That was my father," he added, for Branwen's benefit, "and Arian's grandfather. It was his harp before it was mine. Now, how about showing me the sort of thing you've been playing?"

She launched into an early practice piece, a cheerful jig with easy fingering. Mal sat back and listened quietly. She'd deliberately chosen a beginner's piece to start off with, to get back into the way of playing this wonderful instrument. Once she'd warmed up a bit - she segued into The Song of the Blackbird, which had been Mal's signature tune when he had been at Court, the tune he always ended his sets with. Then she stilled the strings and looked up at him.

"Thank you for that reminder of times past," Mal said, and his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "If you want me to tell you that you can never touch this harp again, you're going the right way about it."

She held his gaze. "I just want to understand," she said. "You left all that behind, and came here, where they don't even believe in magic...."

Branwen put her hand up, and waved at them. "Hello - I'm still here, and I haven't got a clue what you're both talking about," she said.

"She was playing a tune that I used to play when I was a Royal Harper," Mal said. "Which was - shall we say 'inconsiderate' of her, under the circumstances? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you didn't intend to be deliberately provocative. Yes, we left all that behind - and I thought I'd explained to you why we did it. And, yes, because of that, your mother and you have had a hard time of it, and I'm sorry about that. But I didn't know - and there's nothing I can do about it now. If we go back, I'm dead, and Morgannwg will have Branwen for his war, and the last ten years will have been for nothing."

"Hey, nobody's going anywhere," Branwen protested. "We belong in Hay now."

"But Arian's memories of why we came are a lot more recent than ours are," Mal said. "You're still living through it, aren't you - and to us it's ancient history?"

Arian picked the harp up, and put it back in the case. She didn't know what else to do. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done that."

Mal picked the harp up again. "It's just a tune," he said. "I shouldn't have got so angry about it." He picked out a few notes, slowly, and shook his head.

"I need some fresh air," Branwen said. "The emotions in this room are just too much."

"No," Arian said. "I'll go out. I need to think about things." She went to the top of the stairs, and found Islay looking up at her hopefully. "I'll see you later," she said.

It was still light enough to go down by the river. Arian didn't go far. She just sat under the bridge, looking down at the water, while Islay wandered around behind her. After a while, the dog got bored, and came to sit next to her. "Stop licking me," Arian muttered. "I don't deserve it." She had been trying to remind him he was a traitor - and she'd been trying to remind herself. It was becoming far too hard to hold onto that fact the longer she stayed here. He was being kind to her. He'd bought her clothes, and books - no-one had ever bought her even one book before. She'd been prepared for him to be charming, and even nice to her, but she'd thought that she'd be aware of a falseness about it, something untrustworthy just under the surface that she could point to, to justify what she was doing. The trouble was, he seemed entirely honest, and there was no falseness there that she could see - and Branwen was the same. There was no doubt he was a traitor, but traitors had no right to be so nice. She didn't want to betray him. She didn't want to betray anyone. She didn't know what to do.

When she got back, Mal and Branwen seemed to be pretending that nothing had happened, so she pretended nothing had happened as well. They watched a few episodes of Buffy, and Arian spent the rest of the evening attempting to come to grips with the concept of vampires.

After work the next day, Mal took Arian down to the Rose and Crown - but he wouldn't let her go in. "You're too young," he said.

"I'm an adult!" she protested.

"Not here, you're not. Now just sit on the bench and look after Islay."

She sat, sulkily. Peering into the gloomy interior, she could see her father standing at the bar. After a moment, he came out with a glass for her. "It's coke," he said. "Nothing alcoholic."

She sipped it, and wrinkled her nose. "That tastes wierd," she said.

"An acquired taste, I imagine," he said, sipping his pint of beer. "I won't be long. I'm just going in to talk to someone for a moment." He disappeared inside again. If she craned her neck, Arian could just see a woman in jeans and a bodywarmer sitting at a table. There was a black and white dog under the table. "Huh," she muttered. "So dogs are allowed in and I'm not."

She didn't have long to ponder the unfairness of it all - Mal brought the woman, and her dog, outside to sit on the bench. The woman lit up a cigarette instantly. Islay and the other dog started twining their leads together as they greeted each other.

"That's Eddie," said Mal, indicating the dog, "and this is Sara."

"Are you sure your name's Arian?" Sara asked, grinning through a cloud of smoke. "You look more like Susi Quatro in that jacket."

"Who?" Arian asked blankly.

"Rock and roll star," Sara said, "more my era - but Susi had _attitude_. I hope you've got a bit of attitude, too."

Arian looked down at the ground. She wasn't sure what Sara meant.

"So," Sara continued, breathing more smoke, "your dad says you're into horses. How do you fancy coming up and helping me exercise mine some time?"

Arian's face lit up. "Really? I'd started to think there wasn't a horse within a thousand miles of here!"

Sara grinned. "My three are up at Painscastle. Maybe tomorrow, after work?"

"Oh, _yes_!"

"That's settled, then. I'll pick you up, here, around six." Sara stubbed out her cigarette in the sand on top of a beer barrel at the side of the bench, and went back inside the pub. Mal sat with Arian until she'd finished her drink.

She stood up - and promptly sat down again.

"What's the matter?" Mal asked.

Arian looked at him accusingly. "I thought you said it wasn't alcoholic," she said.

"That's right. I gave you coke."

"Then why do I feel drunk?"

Mal stared at her, and then laughed. "I'm sorry, it must be the sugar. Come on, I'll carry you home!"

She got up again, and made a grab for his arm. They staggered past the clock tower together. He was still laughing.

Sara drove them up to the farm in her battered old Estate the next evening, with the two dogs in the back. They pulled up outside an ancient stable block. The horses were out in a paddock to one side. Arian hauled saddles out of the tack room while Sara brought the horses into the yard. "You'd better fetch that hard hat, too," she said. "It doesn't matter if us adults land on our heads, but there would be objections if you did."

Sara saddled all three horses, with Arian's quick and competent help, and then looked questioningly at Mal. "I assume you ride too?" she asked. "I kind of assumed you'd be coming too, since you're here."

"I'm a bit out of practice," he murmured, after a moment's consideration, "but why not?" He took the reins from Sara and swung into the saddle.

They followed Sara up the lane and onto the common. Broad rides had been cut out of the bracken, and larks sang. Arian cantered ahead and up the hill, looking for a good vantage point. Hay seemed very small, down on the other side of the river, and the broad valley stretched for miles. Behind her, Sara and Mal kept their horses to a walk while they talked. Eddie and Islay ran up and down the rides, occasionally disappearing into the bracken. Arian grinned. She hadn't realised just how cooped up she'd felt, down in Hay and in that poky little flat. Up here, she could breathe - and it almost looked like home. If she could come out riding, living here wouldn't be so bad.

When they turned for home, she didn't want to follow them.

"You seem to be able to handle yourself all right," Sara said. "Where did you learn to ride?"

Arian glanced at Mal, who was starting to look a little bit worried. "Oh, I've almost always been able to ride," she said.

"She's been living with her mother," Mal said, before she could say anything else, "and they have horses."

Arian nodded, appreciating the need to keep the details of her past vague.

Sara didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual, though. She was smiling. "You've got yourself a holiday job, if you want it," she said. "Mucking out and exercising them?"

Arian beamed. "Oh, yes - that would be wonderful!"

The following day, Mal got out his harp again. He played a couple of tunes without acknowledging that Arian was even listening, and then he stopped, and looked across at her, and offered the harp to her. Arian put her book down.

"Really?" she asked.

He nodded. "Let's see what you can do," he said. "How about...?" He pulled the harp back, and picked out a dance tune that Arian remembered hearing at Court.

"I always get stuck in the middle of that one," she admitted, ignoring, for the moment, the source of the tune.

"Show me," he said.

She copied the introduction he'd played, maybe a fraction more slowly, then stopped dead with her fingers spread awkwardly across the strings.

Mal shifted round to sit beside her. "I think I see what you're trying to do," he said. "How about trying it this way?" He played it twice, once at normal speed, and once more slowly as she frowned in deep concentration, watching his fingers.

She spent some time practicing that one phrase, over and over, until her fingers moved easily over the strings. Branwen appeared in the bedroom doorway, and watched her for a minute. "Do that once more, and I think I'll scream," she said pleasantly. "Isn't there a rest of the tune somewhere?"

"Yes - but I wanted to get that bit right before I went on to the rest," Arian said.

"Branwen, I'm afraid, is not musical at all," Mal smiled. He held out his hands for the harp again. "Let me show you this one, while Branwen makes coffee."

"Sorry, was that a deep and heavy hint?" Branwen asked. "You want some, too, Ari?"

"Thanks." Arian's attention was all on Mal now. She didn't even notice Branwen disappear into the kitchen.

Mal began to play a bright little dance tune. "Recognise this?" he asked. When she shook her head, he added words in Occitan.

"I like that one, Dad," Branwen said from the kitchen. "Sort of sounds French."

"Sort of is," Mal said. "French is the nearest equivalent in this world."

"It's Occitan." Arian suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. "It's from - the Other Side of the River."

"It's from my childhood, Arian - I thought you knew that."

"Yes, but - you came back...."

Branwen came through from the kitchen with three mugs in her hands. "What's all this about?" she asked.

"Come and listen to the story of my life," Mal said. "Actually, I don't think you've ever heard it before, have you? I've been thinking about this, and it's about time I cleared up a few misconceptions. Arian, you remember when we were talking about the whole idea of Morgannwg's war? Reclaiming the Dukedoms for a Greater Ytir?"

"They're the lands of the Goddess," Arian muttered.

"They _were_ the lands of the Goddess, once," Mal corrected her. "Listen, this is why I don't agree with the Ard Ri - you know I grew up in Andelys, don't you?"

"But - you came back," she said.

"Yes, I came back \- but growing up there, seeing it from the inside, made me realise that we can never go back to how it was before that first war."

"That's where you used to go, isn't it? When you went off on your own?" Arian asked. "I always thought - well, I had this feeling - that you must be a spy."

To her surprise, Mal burst out laughing. "A spy? Good grief! Nothing so glamorous! I was a friend of the family." He smiled dreamily at the memory. "The manor house at Valery is on a hill, surrounded by apple trees. In the spring, it was like looking out on a sea of pink blossom - and the cider! I used to visit my friend Simon, and we'd go fishing together, and drink large quantities of cider, and talk about when we were kids - and he didn't ask me about the Ard Ri, and I didn't ask him about the Duke. Arian, one of the reasons I was useful to the Ard Ri was that I knew the Palatinate from the inside. And that's why I thought he was making a mistake when he got obsessed with this idea of war."

"Hang on," Branwen said, "I don't get this. How come you grew up in - Valery? - when you belonged in Ytir?"

Mal stroked the neck of the harp absent-mindedly. "I was a hostage, to start with," he began. "They rather carelessly killed my father in a border raid, and what they were left with was a nine-year-old boy. To this day I have no idea what we were doing there. I think we were probably just unlucky. Anyway, Sir Simon sent the usual ransom demands off - and nobody claimed me. Again, I don't know why. I made up all sorts of reasons at the time. So, Sir Simon brought me up." He smiled at the memories. "He was a good man, and his son Simon was my best friend - and he even found me a Tiraeg harp teacher. He said he had a fancy for a court Harper, as if he was a Duke."

"But then you came back," Arian insisted.

"Yes - I got it into my head that I wanted to play in an Eistedfodd, and while I was there, I met a Harper who had known my father, and she took me under her wing and trained me up until I was good enough to go to Court. So I never went back to Valery - not to live, anyway. And then I met your mother, and there I was at Court, in Ytir. Arian, if you're going to stay here with us, I think you need to understand about this. I never wanted war because I knew people on both sides of the border - and I knew they were just ordinary people, who wanted to live quietly, and make cider, and go fishing.... Different language, different religion, different music, but just people. To hear some of the people at Court, you'd think the people of the Palatinate ate babies for breakfast - and to hear some of the more ignorant people on the Palatine side, you'd think the Tiraeg people did the same. And yet, along the borders, families inter-married, and met together, and worked together when they needed to. It was all a lot more pragmatic - and it's all going to be swept away if Morgannwg starts his war."

"But - you still shouldn't have taken Branwen away," Arian said, uncertainly.

"No, I shouldn't have done," Mal agreed. "But it was the only thing I could do - and I'd do it again, in the same situation. When you think the war is wrong to begin with, and the people responsible want to use children to fight that war - that's why I did it."

"Chocolate," Branwen said, suddenly. "While we're all thinking about that. There is no problem that cannot be solved by chocolate." She went into the kitchen and came back with a packet of Dunkable biscuits.

"You are so confused," she said to Arian, pushing the packet under her nose. "Here, eat."

Arian picked a biscuit out and nibbled without noticing what she was eating. "Why did you have to complicate things?" she said at last. "It was all so simple when I was back home."

"Simple, maybe," Mal said. "But was it true?"

Arian slumped back into the comfortable cushions of the sofa, with a bourbon biscuit in one hand and a glass of cranberry juice in the other. She ached, but in a good way. She'd done a hard day's work, up at the stables, and her body knew it. Down by the front door, where she'd been made to take them off before they stank the flat out, stood her new wellington boots, green ones from Hay and Brecon Farmers. Sara had taken her down there first of all, so she wouldn't spoil her leather boots - and had taken the price of them out of the money she gave Arian in the evening. Arian didn't know whether the bank notes in her pocket added up to a lot in this world, but it was still very satisfying to have earned them herself.

Branwen had promised her 'lots of lovely David Tennant', and they were halfway through The Fires of Pompeii when Mal came back from the launderette. He went straight through to the bedroom without disturbing them.

"Your clothes are on the bed," he said, when he came out again. He slumped into the remaining armchair and Islay jumped up on his lap.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Shouldn't they try to stop all those people being killed?" Arian asked, as the rumblings from the volcano got more insistant.

"They can't - it's a fixed point in time," Branwen said. "You can go to Italy and walk round the ruins now."

The volcano erupted, the Roman family was saved, and the word 'volcanic' entered the language. The credits rolled.

"Which one next?" Branwen asked. "Silence in the Library? You've got to see River Song."

"Before you think about that," Mal said, "would you care to give me some explanation for this, Arian?" He held up the Mirror so that they could both see it.

"Oh, no," Arian murmured. She'd brought it out, just to look at. She thought she'd hidden it away again, at the back of the drawer - but she couldn't have done. "Oh, Dad...."

"What's the matter?" Branwen said. She turned from the shelf where the Who DVDs lived and looked from one to the other curiously. Mal held up the Mirror.

"It's Arian's mirror. So?"

"So, it's Arian's method of communication with Ytir," Mal said. "She's been spying on us for her mother - or is it your mother, Arian?"

"What? Is this true, Ari?"

"I'm so sorry," Arian said. "Really, I am."

"Polite but inadequate," Mal said. "Who, exactly, are you reporting to?"

"Mother," she mumbled. "It's true - she did send me - well, Cynddylan sent me - but they were keeping it secret. Mother wanted to get back into favour at Court, and she thought, if she turned up with the _yspridwch_ that everyone had been looking for...."

"And all that about you being sent here to escape the Ard Ri's questioning?" Mal went on.

"None of that was true," Arian admitted. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her up. She wanted to cry. "Oh, it's all been so _confusing_!" she burst out. "You _are_ a traitor, but - but when you explained it all, I thought you were right, and it wasn't fair, and you've been so good to me...." She did start crying then.

"Let me get this straight," Branwen said. "You only came here so you could kidnap me? And I felt sorry for you, and I was doing my best to be welcoming...."

"I'm _sorry_ ," Arian wailed.

"What the hell am I going to do with you?" Mal asked.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand. "I'm...."

"...sorry. I know. I'm just not very impressed." He pushed the Mirror into the back pocket of his jeans. "How were you supposed to do it?" he asked. "How were you going to get Branwen back?"

Arian snuffled. "I've got an amulet," she muttered. "It's in my pouch."

"And I was supposed to come with you, just like that, was I?" Branwen asked, sceptically.

"I've got a staring crystal, too."

"A what?" Branwen said blankly.

"Your mother thought of everything, didn't she?" Mal said. "A staring crystal - take one look into it, and you're caught. You can't look away - you don't want to look away - until an _yspridwch_ releases you. They could do anything with you in that state, and you wouldn't even be aware of it."

Branwen shuddered. "And you were going to do that to me?" she asked.

"I didn't know you then," Arian protested. "I didn't know anything then!"

Mal went into the bedroom. "Where did you say the pouch was?" he asked.

"Bottom drawer," Branwen said. "I cleared it out for her stuff."

He rummaged for a moment, and came back into the room carrying the pouch. "Is that all you brought with you?" he asked.

She nodded, still sniffling.

"Read her mind, Branwen."

"Dad?"

"Just do it. We have to be sure."

Arian closed her eyes tight.

"If you try to relax, it'll be easier," Branwen said.

Arian sobbed, and took a deep breath - and tried to think of all the doubts she'd had over the past few days, and everything that had confused her....

"She's telling the truth," Branwen said. "There's nothing else, and I've been picking up how confused she's been for - well, since the day after she got here. I tried not to pry, but it just kept spilling out."

"I'll find somewhere safe for this," Mal said, "like the bottom of the Wye, for instance." He bounced the pouch between his hands as if he was ready to throw it.

"What are you going to do with me?" Arian asked.

Mal sighed. "I don't know. The bottom of the Wye sounds tempting for you, too."

" _Dad_!" Branwen said, horrified. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"Of course I don't mean it," Mal said. "But I don't know what to do with you, Arian. We can't trust you, can we?"

Arian slowly reached up to her neck and took off her torc. She shuffled off the sofa and onto her knees, and held it out to Mal without looking at him. Just as slowly, Mal took it.

"Okay," Branwen said, "what am I missing here?"

Mal turned the almost-circle of silver over in his hands. "I'm sorry, of course you don't know. This shows that Arian has kindred back home. It shows that she's made certain promises. By taking it off, she's showing that she's ready to break her promises. She's cutting herself off from her family, and from the Great Family that they owe allegiance to." He rubbed at the boar's head finial of the torc as if he'd have liked to be able to make it disappear.

"I should have done this before," Arian said. "Days ago. I've been wondering what to do all this time." She looked up, willing him to believe her. "I won't betray you. I won't go back. Will you - will you let me be Arian Malcolm?"

Mal looked down at her thoughtfully. "You want to give up being Arian Luned Valmai?" he asked. "Think very carefully about that one, kid."

"I have been thinking. I've been thinking for days. I only used the Mirror once, when I first got here, and after that - I got confused, and I didn't know what to do. And - mother just left me behind at the Dun and went off to the north, and everybody picked on me, and grandmother always took their side, and it was _miserable_. I don't want to belong to mother's kindred any more." She held her hands together before her, and looked up. "Will you accept me into your kindred, father?"

Mal looked down at her for a long moment. "My kindred?" he said at last. "All three of us? Are you sure?"

She nodded.

Mal rubbed at the torc with his thumb. "We'll have to change this," he said. "Branwen, have you got anything silver among your jewellery? A necklace, or something?"

Branwen headed for the bedroom. "Proper silver, not just looking silvery?" she asked. "Not sure." She brought her jewellery box into the living room, and poked around in it. "How about this?" she asked. She pulled a thin chain out of the box, with a filigree silver flower dangling from it. In the centre of the flower was a small pearl.

"Where did you get this?" Mal asked. "I haven't noticed you wearing it."

"Old Curiosity Shoppe," Branwen said, "ages ago - but it didn't seem to go with anything."

He put the torc to one side and lifted up the silver chain. "Arian Malcolm Petroc," and now he was speaking in Tiraeg, "accept this - chain - as a symbol that you belong to my kindred, and will be faithful to me as the head of the kindred."

She held her hands out, and he draped the chain across them. Fumbling a little, she fastened the chain round her neck. "By the Spear and the Sword and the Stone and the Cauldron, I will be faithful to you," she said - and sniffed loudly.

Mal raised her to her feet, and kissed her gently on both cheeks. "Then I make the contract of _lanamnas_ with you," he said. He released his grip on her shoulders. "You've done it now, kid," he said.

Arian collapsed back onto the sofa behind her. It was too much effort to stand up, all of a sudden.

"You'll have to tell your mother," Mal said, after a moment.

Arian stared at him, horrified. "Do I have to?" she asked plaintively. "Can't you do it?"

"Arian, you're an adult, legally. You have to take responsibility for your own actions. I can't do it for you."

Arian gulped, and nodded. "Do I have to do it now?" she asked.

"I think in the morning will be soon enough," Mal said.

"What do you think she'll do when she finds out?" Branwen asked.

"Good question. I hope she won't want to endanger Arian - but I can't be sure," Mal said. "I have a feeling, Branwen, that you're going to have to learn how to be a proper _yspridwch_ rather quickly, because we are all going to need your protection."

*****

Mirror, Mirror

When Branwen went down to the shop, Mal was serving a customer with a quite satisfying pile of Star Trek novels. She noticed the names Peter David and Diane Duane, and knew he was getting a good deal. Dipping into the surface of his mind, she could see that the customer thought so, too. She didn't feel guilty about the mind reading at all. If she was going to be needing her powers, she needed to practice as much as she could.

She scanned the fantasy shelves, and started pulling books out to look at. When Mal noticed she was there, and came over, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Islay cuddling up to her, and several small piles of books scattered around her.

"I hope you're going to clear up after yourself," Mal said mildly. "If you're looking for good reading...."

She grinned up at him. "Looking for ideas," she said. "We haven't got any _yspridwch_ to talk to, but there are loads of wizards right here!" She waved a David Eddings at him. "I like that bit in the Belgariad where Garion tries to raise a heavy rock and forgets to stand on solid ground."

Mal grinned back. "And then his dog won't go for help? Or - it wasn't a dog, was it? Some animal, anyway. You can forget that one, though. Rocks are for the _priddwch._ "

"You mean there's other sorts of magic user?" she asked.

Mal rolled his eyes. "This is not a D&D game. Sometimes I despair of you, Branwen."

"I blame the parents, myself," she retorted, unrepentant. "Honestly, Dad, what did you expect, growing up over an SF bookshop?"

"Um, a polite, well-adjusted, daughter who does as she's told?" he suggested hopefully.

She giggled.

"No, I thought not," he went on. "Anyway, since you ask, of course there are other sorts of Talents. You know that I can manipulate Fire - well, there are also those who can manipulate Air, and Water and Earth. There are also shape-changers - but _yspridwch_ are the most powerful, and you'd be one of the most powerful of the _yspridwch_ if you'd been properly trained."

"Well, the first ever - okay, not 'magic users' - Talented? That better? Or is there some technical term in Old Tiraeg? They must have made it up as they went along, mustn't they?" Branwen said, reasonably. "I bet I can find all sorts of things to try in these." She ran her finger along the row of books, pausing at Deryni Magic.

"You can forget that one, I think," Mal said. "You really have no need to learn Latin or how to cast a circle. Stick to the psi powers and you should be all right." He pulled out a Mercedes Lackey, and one of the Zenna Henderson collections about 'The People', and a couple of Darkover novels. "These should get you started," he said.

"And Vulcans," she said, giving him a Vulcan salute. "Hey, maybe I can learn to do the Vulcan neck pinch?"

He raised one eyebrow at her in a very Spockian manner. "You're not trying that one on me," he said, sternly.

As he turned back to the desk, Branwen added Deryni Magic to her pile of keepers anyway.

It had irritated Mal immensely that Arian had dashed off that morning with Sara without contacting her mother as she had promised. He kept the Mirror with him - and wasn't too surprised when he became aware that the Mirror was calling to him. Just at that moment, there was no-one in the shop, for which he was thankful. Quickly, he turned the 'Back in 5 minutes' sign round on the door, and retreated to the back of the shop where he couldn't be seen from outside. "Right, then," he murmured, passing his hand over the surface of the Mirror.

Luned's face appeared in the bronze surface; she looked annoyed at first - and then shocked when she realised who was looking back at her. She recovered quickly, though. "What have you done with my daughter?" she demanded.

" _Our_ daughter isn't here at the moment," he said. "If you have anything to say now, you can say it to me."

"I want to speak to her," Luned insisted. "I want to be sure she's all right."

"She isn't here," Mal repeated, "and I must say I take a very dim view of the way you used her as a spy. If I ever get closer to you than I am now, I'll be very tempted to try to strangle you."

"If you've laid a finger on her..." Luned began.

"What do you take me for? Of course I haven't touched her. You, on the other hand - you were using her. I don't blame her for abusing my hospitality - I blame you."

"Traitors don't deserve that sort of consideration," Luned snapped. "You forfeited your right to the protection of Tiraeg law when you went off with the _yspridwch_ child."

"Trust you to put it in a legal framework," he muttered.

"Send Arian back," Luned demanded.

"I'll leave her to discuss that with you," Mal said. "But think of her as my hostage for your good behaviour for now." He passed his hand over the Mirror again, and broke the contact - but he had waited long enough to see Luned's expression, and she had looked furious.

"You're going to have to talk to your mother," Mal said. Arian had kicked her wellies off at the bottom of the stairs and was padding up to the kitchen in her socks (they were Branwen's socks, striped in grey and red - they hadn't got round to getting her any socks of her own yet). She stopped with her hand halfway to the kettle.

"I know," she mumbled.

"She's been in touch already this morning," Mal went on, "and she isn't too pleased. I told her you were my hostage for her good behaviour."

"I suppose - can I have some coffee first?"

"I'll make coffee," Mal said. "And I've got one of those double chocolate muffins - for after you speak to her." He handed her the Mirror. "Off you go."

"Oh." She turned it over in her hands, reluctantly. "Can I - ?" She glanced towards the bedroom.

"Off you go," he repeated. "I'll be here when you finish."

She went into the bedroom, swung the door shut, and sat down on the bed. She'd been feeling quite cheerful when she came in, and all that good humour had drained away, leaving butterflies in the pit of her stomach. And he was trusting her to do the right thing, without standing over her. She took a deep breath to steady herself, turned the Mirror over, and visualised her mother's face.

Luned looked furious. "Just what have you been playing at, young lady?" she demanded. "How did he get the Mirror from you?"

"He found it," Arian said. She took another deep breath. "I'm sorry, mother - you're not going to like this. I'm not coming back."

"What?"

"I can't do it," Arian said. "Branwen doesn't know anything about what's going on in Ytir - and she doesn't care. And Dad - we've been talking, and he's been telling me things, and - well - what he said made sense."

"Are you quite mad?" Luned asked. "I knew Malcolm could be persuasive - Goddess knows, I married him! But I did think you'd be sensible enough not to listen to him."

"He showed me a different point of view," Arian said, "and I realised that I'd just been going along with everything, without questioning any of it - and Cathbad the druid said that we should always question everything, if we want to think critically and decide what's right for ourselves."

"This is a matter of loyalty, not critical thinking," Luned said. "What were you thinking, to be so disobedient when this is so important to us?"

"I was thinking - I'm an adult now, mother, and it's important to you, not to me."

"Don't be silly! It's important to you as well. How will you ever get a patron in Ytir now?"

"I'm not coming back to Ytir."

"What are you going to do there? Will you stop being so silly, Arian?"

Arian said nothing, and set her mouth in a stubborn line. It always annoyed Luned when she did that.

"Your grandmother was right about you after all," Luned said. "I didn't want to listen to her, but you were always causing trouble when you were at home, weren't you?"

"Home?" Arian asked bitterly. "Do you know what it was like, mother? She always put me in the hall, where the temporary visitors slept - she never wanted me there at all. And I always ate at the bottom table, with the servants, while Geraint sat by her at the top table, grandmother's favourite, laughing at me." She took another deep, indignant, breath. "Do you know what father did when I first arrived? He found out what I was interested in, and he bought me books, and he found a friend who wanted help with her horses because he knew I'd enjoy that - and he let me use his harp. Grandmother's never done anything like that. She doesn't care what I do as long as I stay out of her way. She's always glad to see the back of me!"

"Don't you talk about your grandmother like that!" Luned snapped. "Show some respect for the head of your kin."

"She's not the head of my kin any more," Arian said. "Father is - and why should I show Valmai any respect? Every time Geraint teased me, she took his side. Do you know why I was always in trouble there?" she went on, furiously. "Because Geraint spent his whole time provoking me, and she must have known what he was doing, and she let him. I think she wanted me to get into trouble, just so she could say 'I told you so'."

"That's a wicked thing to say about your grandmother - and your cousin," Luned said. She paused. "What's that you said? Valmai's not the head of your kin any more? Have you been even more stupid than I thought?"

Arian pulled down the neck of her top so that Luned could see that she was no longer wearing the torc. "I pledged to him last night, mother. I can do that, as an adult. I told you - I'm not coming back."

"Then you deserve all that's coming to you," Luned said, viciously. "Don't expect to enjoy your father's company for long - and don't expect to come crawling back to Dun Gilfran when he's executed."

"If I never see Dun Gilfran again, it'll be too soon!" Arian declared - and then her defiance wavered, and she added: "You're not going to tell where we are, are you, mother?"

"You're no daughter of mine, Arian _Malcolm_ ," Luned spat, "and you've pledged yourself to a traitor, knowingly. Of course I'm going to tell the Ard Ri. Your fate is on your own head."

And the image in the Mirror wavered, and was gone.

Arian wrenched the door open, and burst out of the bedroom as if her mother was still behind her. Mal was standing at the kitchen door with a mug of coffee in his hand. Without thinking, she threw the Mirror at him, hard. He caught it awkwardly, slopping coffee on the floor.

"I _hate_ my mother!" she yelled. She clattered down the stairs, thrust her feet into the wellies at the bottom, and ran out into the street, slamming the door behind her. She didn't care who saw her - she didn't stop until she got to the Warren. There, she flung herself down on the pebble beach at the curve of the river, and cried as though her heart would break.

When she got back, Mal was still in the shop. She realised, somewhat to her surprise, that it was still only mid-afternoon. He looked up as she sidled through the door as if he'd been expecting her. "Feeling any better?" he asked, sympathetically, and in Tiraeg.

That almost set Arian off crying again. "Not really." She answered in the same language - there were customers browsing the shelves, and she didn't want them to understand what she was going to say. Branwen was there, too, with an armful of books that she was putting back on the shelves - though she had turned to listen in now that Arian had come back.

"Branwen's been scrying you," Mal said. "Sorry about that, but I insisted." He came out from behind the desk and went to the cubby hole to put the kettle on. "So," he said, over his shoulder, as he sorted the mugs out, "what did your mother have to say?"

Arian sat down on the floor with her back to the desk and hugged her knees. She was half expecting Islay to creep up next to her and lick her ear, and she put her arm round the dog. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really, really sorry."

Branwen put her pile of books down on the floor and dragged the step stool closer to perch on as Mal emerged with the coffee. Arian looked up at him hopelessly. "She's going to tell the Ard Ri," she said.

"It's not entirely unexpected," Mal said calmly. "She'll have some explaining to do, I dare say, having sent you here without official sanction, but she'll come out on top in the end. She usually does. We need to take steps to protect ourselves."

He paused as a woman came to the desk with a couple of Terry Pratchetts. Arian shuffled sideways, almost onto the dog's cushion, to keep out of her way.

When she had gone, Arian asked: "What steps?"

"There's an abandoned house, over the river," Mal said. "I've passed it on walks. I think we could hide out there for a few days, camping out, if Branwen can make it 'disappear'."

"Sure," Branwen said.

"And it would be very nice if we could get some advance warning of anyone opening a Portal from Ytir," Mal went on.

"I can do that," Branwen said. "Get the Spidey-senses tingling."

"The - what?" Arian asked.

"Comics are in the corner if you want to find out about Spiderman," Mal said, automatically. "We have some time to prepare, I think - I've been working it out, and I think that a day here corresponds to about two hours in Ytir, so we can set off some time tomorrow morning."

Arian sipped her coffee. "Dad?" she said at last. "Did you know? Did you suspect me all along?"

Mal considered it. "I - wondered," he said finally. "Your mother never does anything without an ulterior motive, and it wasn't too hard to work out what the motive was in this case."

"So you knew about the Mirror?" Arian asked.

Mal shook his head. "That was the most horrible shock - because I was starting to think that it was safe to trust you after all. But - it seems to me that you almost wanted to be found out," he went on, "leaving the Mirror out on view like that."

"I was confused," Arian said. "But now I've thought about it, and I'm not confused any more."

*****

Hiding Out

"Dad, it's been two weeks. Can't we go home yet?" Camping out had been fun at first, but that morning Branwen had woken up in a damp patch where the roof was leaking, and she'd had to go out in the rain to go to the toilet - and she needed a bath - and it was all starting to feel to her as if Mal had been over-reacting. In between Arian's part time horse minding job, they had gone for day trips, which had also been fun - and if anyone from the other world was scrying for them, it must have confused them wonderfully. They'd seen Cardiff, and Shrewsbury, and Malvern and Gloucester - Branwen had never been on so many day trips in her life. And Mal had brought his harp, so he and Arian spent their evenings doing musical things while Branwen sat in a corner looking at Facebook on her phone. Meanwhile, Mal had got Stuart to mind the shop for them, and everything in Hay seemed to be going on as normal.

Mal was standing by the window, looking out at the riverside path. One of the reasons he'd chosen this house to camp out in was the panoramic view across the fields - no-one could creep up on them while they were there. "You're forgetting the time difference between here and Ytir," he said. "I don't think we've been here nearly long enough."

Branwen draped her sleeping bag over an old plastic chair they'd found abandoned in the house - it was too fragile to sit on, but it would keep the sleeping bag off the floor while it dried. Another drip landed on the tile floor as she did so, and she glowered at it. The whole house felt damp, and she ached from sleeping on the hard floor, and it was raining hard enough that she couldn't even go outside. "This sucks," she muttered.

"Yes, well, being in the hands of the Ard Ri would suck even more," Mal said. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and continued to look out at the rain.

Early in the afternoon, the sun came out in a half hearted sort of way. Branwen took herself off to the riverbank to throw stones in the river and watch Islay paddling. Half a dozen canoes went past, full of school children on some adventure holiday, and she waved at them while Islay ran along the bank, barking at them and grinning manically.

Something tingled up and down her spine. She shivered. It was a strange feeling - she wasn't cold. It was as if.... She remembered sitting with the OS map, when they first arrived at the abandoned house, working out the parameters of a spell that would allow her to know when a Portal had been opened around the edges of Hay. This was the warning signal. Someone was here.

She shuffled down the slope to the very edge of the river. Where she was sitting, under the trees, there wasn't a well defined bank, but there was shingle, and pools that were cut off from the main river when the water was low - as it was now. She needed still water, preferably dark still water, and she needed it now.

The scrying brought her an image of a tall man, blond haired, standing on the Offa's Dyke path under the trees on the other side of the road to Clyro. She'd walked Islay down there so often that she knew every tree and bush, so she knew precisely how far from the steps up to the road he was. He was wearing a shirt and trousers and a long leather waistcoat - and he looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a Grimm's fairy tale. Branwen thought he'd blend in slightly more successfully than Arian had when she arrived in that knee length tunic, but not by much.

While he was still standing there, looking confused, Branwen made the image disappear by waving her hand across the surface of the water. She shouted for Islay, and ran back to the house.

Mal was sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a three day old Guardian. Arian sprawled on her sleeping bag, reading A Stable for Jill. They both looked up with identical expressions of alarm when Branwen thumped the door open. "Where's that bowl?" she asked. "I've got to show you something."

They'd brought a small bowl with them, of dark brown pottery, and left it on the window sill in case Branwen needed a scrying bowl. She had almost forgotten it was there. She filled it with the nearest liquid to hand, which happened to be blackcurrant juice. "Look at this," she said. "He just came through from Ytir - I felt the Portal open."

Mal leaned over her shoulder. The blond man had got as far as the Three Tuns, and was hesitating on the corner, just as Arian had hesitated when she first arrived. A van went past him, and he stepped back. Branwen changed her view of him to get a better look at his face.

"Oh, _crap_ ," Mal said quietly.

"What?" Branwen asked.

"That's Simon Valery," Mal said. "The friend I grew up with? I'm going to have to talk to him." He turned away, and Branwen let the image in the blackcurrant juice fade.

"You're going to have to move camp," Mal said, suddenly decisive. "Don't tell me where - just pack up and get out of here. Get the next bus to Hereford - anything. I'll go and talk to him."

"But, Dad - what if he takes you back?" Arian asked.

"It's Branwen they want most of all," Mal said. "Don't worry - I'll be careful."

He caught up with Simon just outside his shop. Simon was peering through the window at Stuart, who was sitting behind the counter. Islay ran straight up to Simon and jumped up to paw his leg. He turned, looking down - and then looked up at Mal. "Oh, no," he said. "I'd hoped I wouldn't find you."

"Come on," Mal said, "there's a decent inn just round the corner. I think we both need a drink."

Simon sat at a table under the canopy at the front of Kilvert's, while Mal went in for the beer. A couple of smokers occupied another table, and Islay wandered over to them for a bit of fuss. Simon had been a great disappointment to her in that regard - he hadn't scratched her behind the ears once. Mal came out with two pint glasses, and set one of them in front of Simon. "So, what's the story?" he asked, in Occitan.

"I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice," Simon said. He wouldn't meet Mal's gaze. "We all heard, about the little girl you took off with - but we thought the Ard Ri was only interested in invading Segur. We didn't think he had any interest in Andelys - or any of the other Duchies. You remember the Castellydd of Caergwrle? When it came to keeping the peace along the border, we always worked well together. We worked well together until this morning, anyway." He paused and took a deep draught of beer.

"We went out hawking together - it had been arranged for a while. We were going to talk about some poachers who'd been slipping across the river to take deer - you remember the woods just up from the common?"

Mal nodded.

"He was most apologetic - but he took all of us into custody. Me, Gwen, the boys \- they're hostages against my good behaviour, and what they want is you and that little girl. Mal, if I don't do what they want, they're going to kill my entire family, one by one, starting with Davy. Davy's only seven years old - what would you have done?"

"Oh, God. Same as you, I suppose." Mal pushed his pint away. He'd suddenly lost the taste for it. "Luned sent my daughter to spy on me," he said. "She's still here. I think that was a private bid by Luned to get back into favour, but she's not getting any joy of it. She'll be the one who thought of involving you. I'm sorry for it."

Simon drained his own pint, picked Mal's up, and drained that. "What am I going to do?" he asked hopelessly.

"Tell me some things," Mal said. "Where have they taken Gwennie and the boys?"

"They're still at Caergwrle. The _yspridwch_ opened the Portal from there."

"Good," Mal said. "We both know the layout of that castle, and the lie of the land around it." Mal pushed his chair back. "Come on, I'll take you home. I'm afraid I can only offer you the sofa to sleep on, but at least I can feed you, and you can meet both my daughters, and we can think of something."

It took some time for Branwen and Arian to get back. They had been halfway to Clyro when Mal had phoned them.

_"Are you sure this is a good idea, Dad_?" Branwen asked, as she dumped her rucksack in the bedroom.

_"I'm pretty sure it's a terrible idea, but it's the only idea I've got_ ," Mal said.

Simon was staring at her. "Who's this?" he asked.

"Ah, I don't suppose they bothered to explain it to you," Mal said. "Time runs differently here. We've been here ten years, and this is the 'little girl' I kidnapped."

"Not so little now," Branwen said, in Tiraeg. Mal and Simon had been speaking in that almost-French language they called Occitan, but she had got the general gist of what they must be saying. She held out her hand to Simon, and blushed as he bent to kiss it.

Arian hung back in the doorway, hugging her father's harp case. Simon smiled at her tentatively.

"Right, family conference," Mal said. He was speaking Tiraeg now - the only language they all had in common. He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, and the rest of them followed him in.

"Arian, Branwen - this is Simon, my oldest and best friend. And we have a problem. Simon's wife Gwen and his three children are hostages in Ytir, and if he doesn't come back with both of us, Branwen, they are going to be killed."

"There are three boys," Simon said. "Ti-Simon's fourteen now, and just started as a squire to the Earl Marshal. He was on home leave when we were taken."

"All the first sons in that family are called Simon," Malcolm added, "back seven generations."

"At least," Simon said. "Ti-Malcolm is eleven - named for Mal, obviously, and the youngest is Davy - he's seven. They're at Caergwrle, in the hands of the Castellydd there - who I used to think was a decent man."

"Following orders," Mal said.

"That's no excuse!" Branwen said. "Are you serious?" she asked Simon. "Are they really going to kill a seven year old if you don't do what they say?"

"They're going to kill him first," Simon said.

"So - I suppose we've got to go back then," Branwen said.

"We are not," Mal said.

"But - "

"I am going to burn their damn castle down," Mal said grimly. "I will not have them dragging my friends into this business to get at me."

"Oh. So what have you got in mind, dad?" Branwen asked.

"Well, if we do this right, the three of us can get into Caergwrle Castle, and rescue the hostages, and get back here, and then Simon and his family can get to the Earl Marshal and get under his protection. We'll need you, obviously, Branwen, to open a Portal and to take down the protection spells around the castle."

"I think I just stopped being destiny-free," Branwen said. "But I've never taken protection spells down - I'm not even sure how they work, apart from what I did here round that abandoned house."

"I know the castle," Simon said. "I can tell you about the spells."

"Dad! You said 'the three of us' - there are four of us here," Arian said.

"And I meant 'the three of us'," Mal said sternly. "You, young lady, are staying here and looking after the dog."

"That's not fair!" Arian protested. "Father, do you really still not trust me?"

"I trust you," he said, "but three lives are enough to risk. It's going to be dangerous, and the more people who go, the more likely someone's going to get hurt."

"But - "

"No."

Arian subsided sulkily.

"So," Mal continued, smoothly, "the plan is, in outline, for Branwen to get us there and disable the protection spells, then we confuse the hell out of the enemy, set fire to the castle, get Gwennie and the boys out at the postern gate, and run away. That leaves the Ard Ri back where he started, with us here, but he'll know it won't be so easy to get us back. Then we'll just have to deal with whatever else he might think up."

"Just the three of us?" Simon asked dubiously. "I think I'd prefer more back up, myself. Has all this time in another world addled your brain?"

"Quite possibly," Mal said, "but consider the alternatives. Number one, you hand us over and get your family back, but then I'm on a one way road to getting executed, and Branwen will be using her powers to kill people, which neither of us want. Also, the Ard Ri won't stop at Segur - he wants it all, every scrap of land that was ever Tiraeg, and that includes most of Andelys, so you wouldn't have your family back in safety for very long. Number two, you don't hand me over, and your family get executed, and they're still going to come after us. We have nobody to go to for protection - so I thought that the best way to deal with it would be to give them a bloody nose, and make them think twice about coming after us again. Also, it's such an outrageously foolhardy option that no-one with any sense would expect it."

"You've got that right," Simon said. "You were never this reckless when we were kids."

They spent the rest of the day preparing for the night ahead. Branwen shut herself in the bathroom for an hour, and came out pink and wrapped in her dressing gown. As soon as the chip shop opened, Mal went down to get fish and chips all round. When they'd eaten, and Branwen had got dressed.... "I suppose we're as ready as we're going to be," Mal said. He consulted the kitchen clock. "It must be the middle of the night in Ytir by now."

Arian went into the kitchen drawer and brought out Mal's bronze dagger. He shook his head.

"Surely you need a weapon?" Simon said.

"If I get close enough to be able to use a dagger, I'll probably already be dead. I'll leave it, thanks."

"Well, I need some sort of blade in my hand," Simon said. "Any ideas where I'll find one?"

Mal took them round to Cassie's house.

"You're back!" Cassie said, waving them inside. "Have a nice holiday?"

"Not as such," Mal said. "It's a bit complicated to explain. Oh, and this is my friend Simon, who's - visiting - from Ytir."

Cassie looked past Mal, and up, at a tall, broad-shouldered man with corn gold hair and bright blue eyes. The stranger bent over her hand and kissed it. "Oh! Are all your friends this good looking?" she asked, slightly breathlessly. "And romantic?"

" _I think she likes you_ ," Mal said, in Occitan.

"And French, too?" Cassie asked, having picked up the lilt of the language if not the actual words. Simon bowed to her.

"I think I may have to sit down," she murmured.

"Actually, we are here for something serious," Mal said. "I've left Arian looking after Islay in the flat - would you check on her tomorrow, in case we don't get back?"

"So - you're going somewhere?" Cassie said. "Anywhere I should be worried about?"

"Maybe," Mal admitted.

"Well, Arian's safe with me - you don't need to worry about her." Cassie looked back at Simon, and then at Branwen, who was being very quiet in the corner. "Are you going to be doing something dangerous?" she asked.

"Somewhat," Mal admitted. "And there's something else you might be able to do for us - can we borrow a kitchen knife, the bigger the better?"

"I'll see what I can find." Cassie disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with an impressively large knife. She presented it to Simon, and watched as he tested the blade, and slid the knife through his belt. Standing there with his hand on the hilt of the knife, as if it were a sword, Simon instantly looked a lot more comfortable - and as though he could handle himself in a fight. Mal looked quite slim and lightweight beside him, in his old black sweatshirt with the picture of the Starship Enterprise which was starting to peel off it, and the words "Space...The Final Frontier". Branwen was wearing jeans, and trainers, and her school sweatshirt, and she'd scraped her hair back into a ponytail, out of the way.

"I have to say," Cassie said, "that you don't look as if you're going to strike terror into the hearts of your enemies dressed like that."

Mal grinned ruefully. "This is part of our cunning plan for confusing them," he said lightly, "but, seriously, if they get to see us, we're doing it wrong."

"Mal, you really are going to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous, aren't you?" Cassie asked.

"I'd rather you didn't say the 'd' word too often," Mal said. "I'm trying not to think about it."

She gave them all a big hug, one by one. "Good luck - and come back safe."

Mal led the way across the Bridge and down onto the Offa's Dyke Path.

"This is about where I came through," Simon said, stopping at a place where the path opened out among the trees in a shallow dip.

Branwen shivered. "I can feel it," she said. "That should make it easier."

"Remember," Mal said, "we don't want to come out exactly where Simon came through from Ytir - we want to be a little further from the castle than that."

"At least we don't have to worry about the _yspridwch_ ," Simon said. "He should be sleeping it off after using all that energy to get me here." He looked at Branwen, suddenly concerned. "Are you really going to be able to get us through and back, and take down the protection spells, all in one go?" He turned to Mal. "Is she really that strong?"

Mal nodded. "She really is," he said.

"You'll have to show me," Branwen said, "like you did with the protection spells. If I don't get something to guide me through, I don't know where we'd end up." She put her hand up to Simon's face for a moment and then, her eyes half closed as she concentrated, she turned to the spot where the Portal had been, and raised her arms above her head. As she brought them down and to the sides, the Portal opened again, a dark oval hanging over the path.

They stepped through halfway up Caergwrle Hill, on the main road up to the castle. It was dark. Clouds covered the stars. Even so, they ducked into the cover of the trees and worked their way up the hill through the wood.

The top of the hill was fairly flat, with the castle built in one corner of a far older hill fort, and a meadow opening out around the castle walls. A broad ditch and bank formed outer defences on the meadow side of the castle. On the other side the hill fell away steeply down to the village. All was quiet.

Mal, Simon and Branwen crept forward to the edge of the trees.

Mal pointed to the tower closest to them, where the ditch ended and the long slope they had just come up began. "Postern gate," he murmured.

Simon nodded, and they moved round closer to it, behind the cover of the old hill fort bank.

"Time for you to do your stuff, Branwen," Mal said quietly.

Branwen knelt on the top of the bank, under the shadow of the trees, and raised her hands to shoulder level, as if she were about to surrender. When she half closed her eyes, and concentrated, it was almost like moving into another plane of existance, like Frodo putting on the Ring. She could feel her palms tingling as she held them up towards the castle walls. She could see the spells like hanks of wool, or that snow stuff they put in shop windows at Christmas, festooning the walls. If she tugged at them, just - so - they would come down, all together, tangling together, and she could reel them in and discard them.

They waited, holding their breath, waiting for an alarm to sound. The night remained silent.

"Okay," she murmured, "I've got them."

Mal stood up then, with his back pressed against a big ash tree on the edge of the tree line. Simon crouched just beside him. Mal could see the tiled roof of the north tower quite clearly, over the curtain wall. Normally, he would have felt a psychic barrier as solid as the stone, but now there was nothing between him and the tower. He was looking for wood, in quantity, and he found it in the joists and beams at the top of the tower. Mal concentrated on making the biggest fire he could with that wood - old beams, hard to set alight. He could feel the sweat starting to run down his face, and then the heart of the wood burst into flame. Half a dozen tiles blew off the roof and clattered down into the yard below. In the gap where they'd been, Mal could see flames licking upwards. Quickly, he braced himself and chose another spot further along the roof. There was a chimney there, and the stone was warm. Flame blossomed.

He turned his attention to the south tower, nearest to them, and found a fireplace with the fire still glowing. He took that fire and sent it into curtains on a wooden partition wall. Flames started to lick out of the open window.

On the far side of the castle was the biggest tower, the keep. He took the conical tip of the roof straight off with his next fire ball, but his arms were shaking now, and pain was starting to shoot from his wrists to his shoulders.

They could hear shouts from the castle yard now, as the fire spread in the north tower's roof. Mal pushed himself away from the tree and staggered. His back was soaked in sweat. Simon was already running across the open ground towards the postern gate, and Mal recovered himself and sprinted after him.

Simon was twisting at the iron ring that controlled the latch when Mal caught up with him. The gate was locked, but they had expected that. Mal ran his hand down the hinged side of the door, ignoring the lock, and burned away the wood there, around the iron. The door swung drunkenly at an angle, and they wrenched it open enough to squeeze through. They were in the shadow of the big bread oven, and Mal leaned on the round dome of it, recovering his breath.

People were milling around in the castle yard, making a chain from the well to the north tower with buckets - though they didn't seem to be making much impression on the fires. The entire top storey of the north tower was well ablaze now, and nothing could be alive in there. They just had to hope that the Castellydd valued his prisoners enough to make sure they were safe.

Four men ran across the courtyard towards the south tower and went inside, so close to Mal and Simon that they could see every link in their chainmail by the light of the fires. Simon nudged Mal and pointed towards the open door. "In there," he mouthed.

Together, they slipped from the cover of the oven to the open door of the tower. There was a small room to one side, and a spiral staircase in front of them across the entrance hall. Simon opened the door of the room and stood in the doorway, invisible from the stairs. Mal ducked under the stairwell. He put his hands together, making an attempt at calmness, and made a small globe of fire. Small magic, easy magic - but all he could manage now. He made four small globes of fire, one after the other, and made them hover beside him, out of sight.

Smoke was starting to fill the stairwell from the fire above. The light from a lantern flickered against the walls of the stairs. Mal twisted round to see, and when the first pair of booted feet appeared above his head, he sent one of the light globes flying up the stairs and round the corner.

There were cries of confusion from above. One guard ran down the stairs, starting to draw his sword, swinging the lantern in his other hand. Simon reached out from the shelter of the doorway and yanked him sideways. They both disappeared. The lantern went out. A moment later, Simon emerged carrying a sword.

Another guard appeared on the stairs, and Mal launched his second light globe at him. The man ducked. Behind him, Gwen Valery, her face white, appeared. She shoved the man hard in the back. He fell forward and Simon grabbed him, running him head first into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He grunted, fell, and lay still.

Gwen was running down the stairs now, towing a small boy behind her. Behind them, an older boy followed close on their heels. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, a smaller version of Simon crashed into the wall, another guard on top of him with one arm round his neck. Mal sent his remaining two light globes to spin around the guard's head. The man ducked, and that was enough for Ti-Simon to elbow him in the stomach and break away. Simon moved to cover their retreat, and Mal waved them outside. "Postern gate, just to the side there - and then into the trees - someone's waiting."

He was outside just behind them, and climbing through the wreckage of the door, with Simon just behind him - and then they ran.

Mal paused at the top of the old hill fort bank and looked back. Five or six men and women were coming after them - and they were far too close for comfort. He could see firelight glinting off sword blades. Worse - one of them had a crossbow. He gathered himself together for one last, great effort. The shock of the fire bolt jarred his arms up to his shoulders and sent him flying backwards to slide down the bank on his back. He landed in a heap at the bottom and rolled. He couldn't see anything but flashing lights. He stumbled blindly for a few paces before his knees buckled and he fell again. Through the roaring in his ears, he thought he could hear Gwennie shouting to Simon. He felt dizzy, and as if he was falling, and then there was only a rushing darkness.

Branwen stood with her arms wide, keeping the Portal open as Simon jumped through. "Close it, now!" he shouted.

Branwen hesitated, and Simon swung round to guard the gap. "Branwen, shut it now!"

"But - Dad -" A figure appeared on the other side of the Portal, and Branwen could see that it wasn't Mal. With a sob, she drew her hands together sharply, and the Portal disappeared. She whirled round to Simon, who was lowering his sword. "Where is he?" she demanded.

Simon put a hand out to lean on the nearest tree trunk. He suddenly looked very tired. "I'm sorry, Branwen. There was a flash of light, and then - it looked as if every castle guard in the place was coming for us. I'm not sure what happened to Mal."

Branwen stared at him. "We've got to go back," she said. She turned to the place where she'd made the Portal before, and brought her arms up above her head.

"Don't do it, Branwen," Simon said.

She ignored him, and started to bring her hands apart.

Nothing happened.

She braced herself, and tried again. "Why won't it open?" she asked. She swayed, and leaned forwards with her hands on her knees, gasping.

"Don't try to force it," Gwen said. "You're too tired, child."

Branwen turned to look at her. "What?"

"You can't do it again tonight," Simon said. "In the morning we'll try."

"But - he might be dead by then." There was an edge of hysteria in Branwen's voice.

"Branwen - we have plenty of time. In the morning here will still be the middle of the night for them." He pushed himself away from the tree, and wrapped his free arm around his wife. "There's nothing we can do now."

Branwen nodded reluctantly.

"Now, will you take us home?" he asked.

She turned and led the way down the path silently, her head down. Behind her, Simon's three sons were making enough noise that it didn't matter if she didn't say anything.

Arian let them into the flat, and Islay came bounding down the stairs with her. She sniffed around them all, and wound in and out of their legs as they tried to climb the stairs, her tail wagging wildly - but she was looking for Mal.

"Oh, go and lie down, Islay," Branwen snapped. Islay looked hurt, and slunk away to lie on Mal's bed.

Gwen and the boys clustered uncertainly in the middle of the living room. It seemed uncomfortably cramped with so many people in it.

Arian looked around, looking confused. "Where's Dad?" she asked.

Branwen shook her head and collapsed into the armchair.

"Branwen! Where is he?"

Simon sighed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What do you mean, sorry?" Arian demanded.

"We had to leave him behind," Simon said.

"You - what?" Arian went white. "Branwen, is he dead?"

"I don't know," Branwen wailed. She hauled herself out of the chair and staggered to the bedroom. At the doorway, she turned to face Simon. "I'm setting my alarm clock for six o'clock," she said, "and if you're not ready I'm going back on my own." She disappeared without waiting for an answer.

In the silence that Branwen left behind her, Gwen Valery said quietly, "Could someone please explain to me what's going on? And where are we?"

"Safe," Simon said.

"Hay," Arian said, at the same time.

"We're in the place where Mal brought that little _yspridwch_ girl," Simon went on, keeping to Tiraeg for Arian's benefit. "Except she's not a little girl any more - that's her, in the bedroom. And we will go back and find out what's happened to Mal, I promise. In the meantime," he nodded towards Davy, who was curled up in one corner of the sofa. "For Gwennie and the boys, it's still the middle of the night - have you got any bedding we could use?"

As soon as Branwen's alarm sounded, she rolled out of bed, still fully dressed. She ached as if she'd run a marathon, and it was ridiculously early - but she had to get back. And then she sat down again, abruptly, on the edge of the bed. She couldn't do it - not yet. Her head felt as if it was full of cotton wool, and when she tried to find the energy to work any magic at all, it wasn't there. She was so drained that she couldn't even pick up Arian's surface thoughts from two feet away.

Arian squinted up at Branwen from the camp bed. "Are you ready? Can I come?"

Branwen groaned. "No, and no. Arian, I can't do it. It's like I've gone - mind-blind, or something, and I'm so tired...." She rolled back under the duvet, and was asleep almost at once.

Mal woke slowly. It was dark, and he was lying face down. There was something gritty under his cheek, and he ached all over. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't work out what it was. He shifted his weight to roll onto his side. He moved a few inches and then rolled back onto his face, and he realised that he couldn't feel his arms at all. He was numb from the shoulders down. He lay still, trying to remember what had happened. There had been a blinding flash - his blinding flash. He'd taken every ounce of power he had left and thrown it at the pursuing soldiers. He wondered what the result had been, because he couldn't remember anything after that. It explained his numb arms, though. He'd never channelled anything like that amount of power through his body before.

After a while, there was a creaking and banging noise behind him, and light flooded in. Mal could see a dirt floor, and barrels. There was the sound of booted feet on wooden stairs behind him, and he turned his head. Two mail-clad guards were coming down into the cellar. He was almost too numb to feel surprised. Before they got to him, he craned his neck to see the rest of the cellar. He was alone down there, and he'd been the last one out of the castle. He hoped desperately that the others had got away.

The guards hauled him to his feet and marched him up the stairs. Looking down, he saw the short length of chain between his wrists and the manacles that were already starting to burn into his flesh. He couldn't feel it yet - but he would. A wave of nausea hit him, and by the time it had cleared, he was outside.

The inn yard was full of horses and people, and the two men at arms steered him through the throng. They stopped beside a horse, and one of the men at arms boosted him into the saddle. He lurched gracelessly, and gripped the horse with his knees to stay on. The reins were already in the hands of another rider, and he couldn't get his hands to stay on the pommel. He looked around. They were giving him a full lance as an escort, six men and two women, and an officer was sitting his horse near the inn gate.

No-one seemed to be about to tell him what was happening or where they were going.

Simon and Branwen lay half under a bramble thicket overlooking the principal inn of the village. They watched the armed men and women, and the horses. "I'd guess the Castellydd is here," Simon murmured. "It'll be the best billet, now that the castle's out of action."

At the top of the hill, they could still see smoke rising from the ruin.

The door of the inn opened, and two guards came out, dragging someone else between them - someone wearing a black sweatshirt and jeans. Branwen gave a little squeak of dismay.

They put him on a horse and, within a few minutes, they were riding out of the inn yard. Even Branwen could see there was no chance of rescuing Mal right then.

"At least he's alive," Simon murmured, encouragingly.

"The boys are back." Gwen was looking out of the kitchen window down onto the street. The Clock Tower was just visible down the hill if you craned your neck - but she didn't need to do that to be able to hear Ti-Simon and Arian talking loudly about horses in Tiraeg. They were striding ahead, with Ti-Malcolm and Davy tagging along behind and Islay weaving in and out of pedestrians as she led them home. All of them were mud spattered; they'd been exercising Sara's horses up in Painscastle again. The boys were wearing borrowed sweatshirts over their linen trousers and sturdy leather boots. Even with the sleeves rolled up, little Davy looked half buried in his. It was decorated with a picture of a blue box against a swirly pattern and the words "Trust me - I'm the Doctor."

"They look as if they've had a good time," she added.

Arian was the first to clatter up the stairs and into the living room. She stopped at the sight of Branwen, lying on the sofa, clutching a mug of coffee in her hands.

"Where's Dad?" Arian asked.

Branwen closed her eyes for a moment. She was bone-achingly tired, and she knew she'd been overdoing the magic - but she couldn't stop now. "We couldn't do anything," she said. She moved aside, just enough to allow Islay to jump on the sofa beside her. The dog licked her face, and planted damp, muddy paws across her t-shirt. Branwen barely registered the dog's presence. "A whole bunch of soldiers were taking him away somewhere," she said. "As soon as I drink this, I'm going to find out where."

Simon came out of the kitchen, holding a hunk of bread and cheese. He moved one of Branwen's hands away from the cup, and wrapped her fingers around the food. She barely noticed him, either.

"Mal said something about having a Mirror here," he said. "Do you know where to put your hand on it? I really need to get in touch with the Earl Marshal."

Branwen glanced across at Arian, and then shrugged. "He was hiding it from Arian," she said. "Kind of - just in case," she added, apologetically. "It's down in the shop. If you feel around under the desk, you should find it." Simon started for the door, and she added, "You need the keys - on the hook as you go out the front door."

It was Stuart's day off. He was starting to ask if this was becoming a permanent job. Branwen wasn't sure what to tell him.

Arian slipped into the kitchen, where Gwen was cutting more bread and cheese for her sons. Tired as she was, Branwen could feel the younger girl's disappointment, and resentment. Arian thought Mal hadn't trusted her, and that wasn't entirely true, and Branwen felt far too tired to even attempt to explain it to her. She nibbled at the bread and cheese without tasting anything, and closed her eyes - just for a moment....

Simon came back up from the shop, and waved a hand towards the bedroom. "I need to speak to you," he said quietly, glancing into the kitchen to check that everyone there was otherwise occupied.

Branwen huddled against the pillows and the head board, and wished she could just crawl under the duvet and shut everything out until Dad - but Dad wasn't coming back, and it was all up to her now.

Simon sat down at the far end of the bed, managing to look very straight backed and formal. "I've been talking to the Earl Marshal of Andelys," he said, "and I'm afraid I have bad news for you."

Branwen snorted. "Worse than Dad being held prisoner by people who are going to kill him?" she asked.

"That's part of it," Simon said. "The Ard Ri has contacted our Duke Phillip, and says that he wants the Duke to hand you over to him. If he doesn't, the Ard Ri will invade Andelys. Since the demand came before I got in touch with his noble brother the Earl Marshal, the Duke didn't have a clue what the Ard Ri was talking about. I spent quite some time just getting the story straight for them. So, what's happening now is that Mal is being taken to Rath Mochnant, where the Ard Ri is now. It's a few days' ride, so we have plenty of time to decide what to do. The thing is, if you don't turn up there by the time Mal arrives, they're threatening to execute him and then send their army straight into Andelys and, to be honest, we don't have a hope of stopping them without allies from the other Duchies. If you give yourself up, then Mal will be kept alive as hostage for your good behaviour."

"Like they'll keep to that once they've got hold of me," Branwen muttered.

"Branwen - I don't think you understand," Simon said. "The Ard Ri has said he will do this, in public - to Duke Phillip. He can't go back on it now, or he'll lose his honour. They have a saying in Ytir," he went on. "If a lie is told under the roof tree, the house will fall down - words are important, and the Ard Ri will keep that promise." He paused. Branwen was staring at him blankly. "Branwen - do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded slowly. Her hands were gripping the edge of the duvet so tight her knuckles were white. "It's all taking a bit of getting used to," she said quietly. "I mean - a few weeks ago my biggest problem was getting through my GCSEs." She sighed. "That's exams - do you even have exams in Ytir?"

"A test of some sort?" Simon guessed.

She nodded. "And now - I feel responsible for everyone, and Stuart wants to know what's going to happen with the shop, and - and.... This is real and they're going to kill him, aren't they?"

"If you don't give yourself up, then yes," Simon said, "and the Earl Marshal told me that, if you stay here, he'll send men himself - and his own _yspridwch_ \- to take you back to Andelys by force."

"Oh, God," she whispered. "Isn't there any way out? I mean, couldn't we try to rescue him?"

"It's not really practical," Simon said gently. "It was a mad idea for the three of us at Caergwrle - and now the Earl Marshal's involved.... I have to do as he says - he's my liege lord."

"You're saying I've no choice, aren't you?" Branwen said.

"If there was any way out of this, I'd be the first to take it," Simon said. "Mal's my closest friend - we grew up together, and we kept in touch as much as we could when he went back to his own country. I don't want to see him dead, either. Look, I'll leave you to think about it, shall I?"

He got up, and left her huddled there.

In the living room, Arian was organising the boys. "Would you like a chocolate biscuit?" she asked, as Simon came out of the bedroom. He took one out of the packet she offered him, and looked at it dubiously.

"It's really nice, papa," Davy said. He already had chocolate smeared round his mouth.

"I was just showing them how the video works," Arian said. "We're watching Blake's Seven."

Simon glanced at the TV screen. Several people were standing in what looked like a sandy quarry. Men in black uniforms were creeping up on them. Ti-Simon hooted with laughter. "That is such an obvious ambush!" he said. "Do they want to get captured?"

Simon came to sit down on the end of the sofa. "This is - a sort of play, then?" he asked.

As Davy and Ti-Malcolm started to explain it all to him, Arian saw Branwen hovering in the doorway of the bedroom. She gestured to Arian to come inside.

"What's going on?" Arian asked, as Branwen closed the door on the Valery family.

Branwen collapsed back onto the bed. "It's all gone wrong," she said, despairingly. "I'm going to have to give myself up to the Ard Ri. If I don't, they'll kill Dad and invade Andelys, wherever that is, and if I do, they'll start an even bigger war and I'll have to help them."

Arian sat down beside her. "I thought you might have been able to bring him back," she said, and Branwen could feel the resentment again, stronger than ever. "I thought you were supposed to be so powerful."

"Well, I couldn't \- and maybe I am powerful, but I don't know half of what I could do. There's never been anyone to show me!" It was all so unfair, and it wasn't her fault - but Arian still blamed her. Arian was the only person she could ask, though. She didn't think Simon would tell her the truth. "Arian - I need to know. What are they going to do to Dad?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Arian asked, cautiously. "We-ell - Dad broke his oaths to the Ard Ri, and kidnapped you, so he's a traitor and an oathbreaker. I think they'll chop his head off and stick it on a spike on the Great Bridge at Cader Ardry."

Branwen shuddered. "Great. Fantastic. Anything else I should know about?"

"Not sure - what sort of things did you want to know?"

"I don't know! Can't we get him out of this? Isn't there anything?" Branwen stopped, and sighed, and curled herself up against the pillows. "I just want all of this to go away - and it won't," she said quietly.

When Branwen finally emerged from the bedroom, the Valery boys had tired of Blake's Seven and had moved on to Deep Space Nine. She could see Quark's Bar on the screen as she squeezed past them - and managed to get out of the front door before anyone thought to stop her.

She burst into Cassie's house as soon as Cassie opened the door, and fell into her arms. "Oh, Auntie Cass, I don't want to go!" she wailed.

Cassie kicked the door closed, and held on to Branwen. "Go where?" she asked. "Tell me about it. It's all right."

"Tis not," Branwen muttered sullenly, and then she was sobbing, great heaving sobs that came up from the depths. She hung onto Cassie as if she might drown in them.

"Come on," Cassie started to steer Branwen towards the living room. "Let's sit down, and...."

"They're going to kill Dad," Branwen howled. "If I don't go back, they're going to - going to - stick his head on a spike - and, Auntie Cassie, it's horrible there. I don't want to go!"

"Oh, love, I don't know what to say to you," Cassie said helplessly. Branwen buried her head in Cassie's shoulder, and clung on to her, and sobbed.

When the tears had subsided a little, Cassie steered her gently in the direction of the living room, and sat her down on the sofa. Branwen rubbed at her eyes with her fingers, and snuffled, and wondered where all the tears were coming from, because there were plenty more waiting to come out, and then she leaned on Cassie's shoulder, and let them come, because this was the end of the world.

*****

Going Back

"I should take you all back home," Branwen said. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the side of the armchair, because that was the only place left. Islay lay slumped across her lap.

Simon, enthroned in the armchair, put a hand down to pat her on the head, and then stopped, awkwardly. "My family is the least of your concerns," he said.

"No, it's all down to me," she said, matter-of-factly. "I'll take you all home to Valery and then I'll - go on alone." Now she had accepted that there was no other choice, it all seemed quite straightforward.

"That's generous of you," Simon said, and she could tell that he meant it.

That was good, because she had other arrangements she needed to make. "There's Arian, too," she went on. "She can't stay here on her own. And - and Islay...." She ruffled the little dog behind the ears - and wondered when she'd get the chance to do that again.

"I'm not going back to mother," Arian said. Her mouth was set in a determined line. "Anything's better than that."

"The thing is," Branwen said, "I don't think any of us will be coming back here, and we have to think about Islay. I don't think I'll be able to take her with me - can you look after her, Ari?"

Arian came to sit beside Branwen. Islay wriggled round so that she could lie on both their laps together, and licked Arian's hand. "Course I'll look after her," Arian said, "but I don't know where I can go yet - and," her hand flew to her mouth. "Dad's harp! We can't leave that here! I - I suppose I could keep it for him, just in case....?"

Branwen shivered. "I suppose. Do you think any of us are going to get out of this? Especially Dad? I think you'd better keep it. At least you can use it." She looked from Arian to Simon, and gave Arian a mental nudge. _Be sensible, Arian,_ she thought. _There's one simple solution to this problem that's staring us right in the face._

Arian followed Branwen's gaze, up behind them, to Simon. She frowned - but she wasn't stupid. Branwen could feel her thoughts almost as clearly as Arian could herself.

Arian dislodged the dog back onto Branwen's knee, and got up. There was just enough clear space in front of the armchair for her to go down on one knee before Simon. "Would you consider taking me into your household, Sir Simon?" she asked formally. "I offer you my services as a Harper, if you'll have me."

Simon looked over her head at Gwen, who was squeezed onto the end of the sofa with the boys around her. "It's what my father did with her father," he said. "What do you think?"

Gwen smiled. "For the sake of your father, and for your own sake, welcome, child," she said.

"So that's settled," Branwen said. "And you'll take Islay as well?" she added, just to make quite sure.

"That dog," Simon said, "is half the size of my hounds. She'll be ruling them all almost as soon as she walks through the door."

That almost brought a smile to Branwen's face - the first since she'd seen Mal being taken away by the soldiers.

"We'd better get sorted out, then," she said, hauling herself to her feet. "If we're going to go, we'd better do it soon, before I have second thoughts. I need to pack."

Arian followed her into the bedroom. Branwen had dragged out her rucksack, and was in the act of emptying half her knicker drawer into it. Arian headed for her pony books and began shoving them into a carrier bag.

"Ari," Branwen said, "I know this is going to sound stupid - but - there's so much I don't know. What do you do about - well, toilet roll, or - or periods?"

"Moss, sometimes, or leaves - and - oh, you mean...." She lowered her voice to a whisper, and blushed. "That time of the month?" She leaned in close to Branwen's ear. "Rags - you put rags in a sort of loincloth, and then you put them in a bucket to wash them out later - or the maid washes them out, if you have one."

"Oh, yuck," Branwen groaned. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life dirty and smelly, aren't I? I bet there's no shampoo, or soap, or toothpaste, or anything."

"We have soap," Arian protested. "I'm not dirty and smelly! Just because you've got all that coloured stuff in bottles -"

"Oh, stop it! I don't want to argue." Branwen sat down on the end of the bed and chewed at her lip. She didn't want to start crying again. She kicked at the rucksack half-heartedly. "I don't even know if I'm going to be able to keep all this stuff," she said. "I don't know _anything._ "

"You'll be all right," Arian said. "They'll look after you - and at least Dad will still be alive." She tried the handles of the carrier bag. They were starting to stretch. "I'll be on the wrong side of the river - and I might never be able to go back - and I've got no clan to go back to now."

Branwen picked up the rucksack and opened her t-shirt drawer. This wasn't ideal for any of them. "Simon will look after you," she said, "and Gwen likes you. It won't be so bad."

Arian put her leather jacket on. She didn't say anything.

They left late that evening, under cover of darkness. The Valery family were all back in their own clothes, which was why Branwen insisted on discretion. She had left a note for Stuart, to ask him to carry on for the time being, but it didn't really matter. She didn't think she'd ever see Hay again. She'd left almost everything behind, apart from the contents of her rucksack. She didn't want to take anything she cared about with her, only to have it taken away from her.

They went down to the Offa's Dyke Path, Branwen with her rucksack, Arian with the harp and bag of books, and a few clothes in another plastic bag. Ti-Malcolm had taken charge of Islay, and had her on the lead.

They reached the place where the path dipped, where Branwen had opened the Portal before. She turned to Simon. "I need to see where we're going," she said. "I can't do it if I've never been there before."

Simon bent so she could put her hand on his face, and she could see the castle in his mind. It seemed quite small, with round towers that had conical roofs, and it was perched on a steep hill above what seemed like acres of apple trees. Branwen could see why Mal had sometimes got homesick for a place as beautiful as that.

She waved the others back, out of the way, and brought her hands up over her head. As she brought them down, in a smooth, broad sweep, the Portal opened. In the twilight on the other side, she could see the apple trees, and a stretch of short grass. They stepped through, one by one, and Branwen closed the Portal behind them.

They were standing at the foot of the hill, close to a narrow road. Simon took a deep breath of evening air. It was warm, and there were scents of grass and deep red soil. "Welcome to the best cider orchards in Andelys," he said. "Come on, Master Annersley's expecting us."

He led the way up the lane to the castle gateway. Branwen hung back, acutely aware that Simon and Gwen and the boys were coming home, and she and Arian were strangers there. Gwen and Ti-Simon were talking together, and occasionally Simon joined in, and Branwen didn't understand a word of it. She remembered, vaguely, when she and Mal had first got to Hay. He had been busking outside the HSBC, and after a while, he'd given her some money to go into Shepherd's to get something to eat. She remembered being too small to see over the counter, so she'd gone round the side, and held the hand of the lady who was serving - and it had been like a tap turning on in her mind. She had gained a precociously adult vocabulary almost instantly, and had passed it on to Mal as soon as she came back to him.

She needed to speak Occitan now - it made her nervous that she couldn't understand what people were saying, when they might be making decisions about her, even when they were people she instinctively trusted. They had reached the gates, and were waiting for them to be opened, so Branwen sidled up to Ti-Simon and slipped her hand into his. He looked a little surprised, but she smiled, and held tight, and felt her way to the language centres of his brain - as soon as she'd got the chance in Biology at school, she'd done her best to learn everything about the human brain that she could, and it certainly made things easier when she was searching another person's mind for information. It was as if the soundtrack of the foreign film happening around her suddenly jumped and got dubbed into English. She let go of Ti-Simon's hand. "Thanks," she said, and knew she was speaking Occitan. "Now I can understand everybody."

The following morning, Branwen woke to bright sunshine through the window, and rolled over to check her alarm clock. By the time she had turned over, she had remembered that there was no alarm clock, and no bedside table, and she was lying in a narrow bed with a lumpy mattress in a turret of Valery Manor. She yawned mightily, and flopped back on the pillow. It was very quiet, but she thought it might be quite late. Between all the magic she'd been doing, and all the crying, she'd tired herself out.

Islay was no longer at the bottom of her bed, and the door was open far enough to allow a sturdily built little dog to pass through. Branwen hoped Islay wasn't being a nuisance somewhere. She supposed she'd better get up and find out.

The first thing she needed to do, after she'd got dressed and dragged a comb through her hair, was to find whatever passed for toilets here.

There was a little passage to a tiny room, on the outside wall of the tower. It appeared to open directly to the open air. Branwen looked at the hole in the floor dubiously, and did what she needed to as fast as she could. She wasn't going to enjoy the medieval style lack of plumbing.

When she emerged, Gwen was coming up the spiral stairs. "Ah, there you are - I was just going to bring you down for breakfast."

Branwen followed her down to a long hall, and Gwen sat her down at the table on the dais while she disappeared through a side door. A few moments later, a maid arrived with a tray.

Branwen was relieved to find that most of the food looked familiar. Warm buns, and butter, and raspberry jam, and a tankard of something - she sniffed it cautiously; it seemed to be cider. Branwen took a sip, hoping that it was weaker than it tasted. She wasn't used to drinking cider for breakfast.

Gwen came to sit down next to her.

"Where is everyone?" Branwen asked. "Am I really that late down?"

"I'm afraid you are," Gwen said. "Arian and the boys have gone out with the dogs. Ti-Simon said he wanted to show her around. Simon, I think, is still in his study. He's been checking our defences with Master Annersley. As soon as you've had enough breakfast, I'll take you to him."

Branwen stuffed herself. She'd been so upset the day before that she'd forgotten to eat much, and she found that she was ravenous now. As she pushed the tray away, though, she started to feel a churning in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with food. "I suppose I'd better come with you now," she said unhappily.

Gwen led her out of the hall by another door and along a passageway. She paused by a door and listened. "He's still here," she said, and ushered Branwen in.

Simon was perched on the edge of a table, looking down at some papers. He looked up as they came in and smiled encouragingly. "I was hoping you'd turn up soon," he said.

Branwen stood awkwardly just inside the door and looked at the floor. "I should go soon, shouldn't I?" she said.

"To Rath Mochnant, you mean?" Simon asked. "I think you should, yes."

"It's not that I don't want to go, but - I mean, I don't want to go - oh, Hell - I don't know how to get there," she finished helplessly.

"Don't worry, we've been arranging things," Simon said. "If the destination isn't appealing, at least the journey will go smoothly. You don't even need to open a Portal yourself - that's all being taken care of, but we have to go to meet the _yspridwch._ Are you any good at riding?"

"I never learned."

"Well, we'll find you a quiet horse and do the best we can, then," Simon said. "It won't be a long journey - just over the border a little way. We're going to visit Caergwrle again."

The horses were ready all too soon. Simon had changed into chain mail with a maroon and yellow surcoat. A long cross-hilted sword hung from his sword belt, and he was carrying the sort of helmet that Branwen remembered vaguely from pictures of Richard the Lionheart. There were two other soldiers in the maroon and yellow livery with them and their helmets just had the simple nasal strip of the Normans on the Bayeaux Tapestry. They were carrying what she supposed were lances - or possibly spears - with a little triangular yellow flag near the pointy end. She was beginning to wish she'd paid more attention when they'd done the Middle Ages at school.

The horses seemed very tall, now that she was standing right next to one. "Put your foot in the stirrup - no, the other one," Simon said, "and now hold there - and up...." She hopped, uselessly, and didn't get anywhere. "Push on the foot in the stirrup," Simon suggested. "Come on, try again...." This time, she got off the ground, and found herself hanging over the horse's neck. "And swing your free leg over," Simon went on. That sort of worked, and she came down into the saddle, and waved her foot around looking for the other stirrup - and then the horse moved before she expected it to, and she grabbed onto the lumpy bit at the front of the saddle - and saw Arian on the hall steps, trying to cover her face with one hand while she hung on to Islay's lead with the other.

"There you go." The horse had stopped moving now, and Simon gathered up the reins and arranged Branwen's fingers on the leather.

There had to be an easier way of doing this. Branwen reached down carefully, and stroked the mane between the horse's ears - and found a placid, untroubled mind. When the mare moved again, Branwen was ready for it, and had picked up enough to know how to sit to be most comfortable in the saddle. If she could manage to do what the mare expected, she was probably doing all right.

They went down the lane and past the apple orchard at a slow walk, and Branwen was beginning to think that she could manage this. At the bottom, they crossed a wooden bridge, and the hollow booming of the hooves made her jump. Once on level ground, they began to trot. Branwen's teeth rattled in her head until she could work out how to get in synch with the mare's movements. It was all rather more energetic than she had expected. She had always supposed that you just sat there and let the horse do all the work.

It took something over an hour to get to Caergwrle. In daylight she could see that the position of the castle was quite imposing. The hill behind the village was steep and high, and the valley narrowed at that point so anyone following the road further had to pass right under the castle walls. What were left of them. The castle was a blackened shell.

They rode into the inn yard that Branwen and Simon had been spying on the day before and the mare stopped of her own accord, with the others. Branwen had kind of got the hang of the riding - but the ground was a very long way away, and she wasn't sure how to get off. She imagined it would be like getting on, only in reverse, but she didn't want to attempt it until she had to.

Simon made his horse walk sideways until he was next to her. As Branwen had only just got used to horses walking forwards, this seemed exceptionally clever of him. "Need any help?" he asked.

Some men came out of the inn, and one of them held her horse's head for her. "Now," Simon said, "slip one foot out of the stirrup, and put your weight on the other foot while you swing your leg over, that's right, and this man here will catch you...." Branwen swung, and lost her balance, and tumbled inelegantly into the arms of a Tiraeg soldier, who held onto her until she managed to stand up again.

"I hope I don't have to do that again any time soon," she said. Another soldier was unfastening her rucksack from where it had been lashed to the saddle. Simon bent down to her. "I have to go now," he said. "Good luck, Branwen." One of his men took the reins of the mare Branwen had been riding, and they trotted out of the inn yard, leaving her alone and surrounded by Tiraeg soldiers.

They didn't give her a chance to think about it. There was a man with the soldiers, wearing a long robe of red and green velvet. The torc round his neck was silver, and had boars head finials. He was carrying a long staff, and it was fairly obvious that he was the _yspridwch_. Everyone stood back as he raised his arms above his head, and brought them down in a sweeping arc. The Portal opened, in the middle of the inn yard.

She could see a meadow on the other side of the Portal, and armed men standing around it. She took a deep breath - and walked through.

There were about half a dozen men and women in chain mail, carrying spears. With them was another man, wearing a long robe of dark yellow silk. He also carried a long staff, and his torc was silver with boars heads. She turned as the first _yspridwch_ stepped through the Portal, resisting the urge to bolt back through it and just keep on running. He closed it down and, as it disappeared, she stared out across the meadow. There were tents covering the ground as far as she could see, A-frame tents in long rows of white canvas, striped bell tents in all sorts of colours, stacked wigwams of spears, wagons and horse lines. Everywhere there were flags flying, square ones on long poles, long streamers from the tops of bell tents, pennants and banners. Amongst the tents moved armed men and women, even children, and horses and dogs, and - cows, yoked together in pairs.

"Are you going to keep the Ard Ri waiting all day?" came a voice from behind her.

She turned to face the _yspridwch_ in yellow. "Sorry," she said. "What do I do now?"

"This way," he said curtly. The soldiers formed up around them, and she fell into step just behind the two _yspridwch._ One of the soldiers took her rucksack from her.

It wasn't exactly a castle. It was more of a hill, with deep ditches around it, and very short grass. The way they were going led to a wooden gatehouse. Once through there, they came to another open space, thronged with people and wagons and surrounded by sheds with blacksmiths and armourers. Beyond that rose the grey stone walls and towers of a building that was more like she expected a castle to look. The flag that was flying from the highest tower was a white boar on a red background - Mochnant meant the Valley of the Pigs, she remembered. There had to be thousands of people camped out - and the castle was huge. It was a lot more intimidating that she wanted to admit.

She could feel the protection spells, too. They had started at the ditches, tingling on the edges of her consciousness, and now she could sense them bound into the stonework, deeper and stronger and older than anything she'd encountered at Caergwrle. She wasn't surprised, now, that they had to open a Portal outside the Rath. Not even the strongest _yspridwch_ would be able to get through those defences.

She felt very small, and lost - and trapped.

They walked through doors and along corridors, and up stairs until Branwen felt completely lost. Then they were passing through another set of double doors, with carvings in the stone all round them, of boars and trees and people with spears. The room beyond the impressive doors was as big as her school hall, full of people standing around in small groups. They marched through the middle of everyone, towards a low dais at the far end. On the dais was a tall, ornately carved, wooden chair, with other, less elaborate, chairs around it, and she realised that this had to be the throne room. The tall chair, with a little canopy over the seat, was occupied by a stout man in a blue silk robe, tight round the middle. His thick chestnut beard had a few streaks of grey in it. The gold torc round his neck was huge, and made of many gold wires twisted together, with golden boar's heads holding them all together.

She had been expecting someone like Ming the Merciless. He looked more like a smaller version of Brian Blessed.

She wondered if she was supposed to curtsey.

The red and green _yspridwch_ bowed. "The girl Branwen, Ard Ri Mawr."

She was aware of people behind her turning to watch, and realised that, if she'd been going to curtsey, she should have done it by now. She stood up straighter instead.

"So, has she fulfilled her early promise, Cathbad?" the Ard Ri asked.

"That remains to be seen," the _yspridwch_ said. "We will have to test her to see what she can do."

"And how soon can she be ready?"

Branwen had opened her mouth before she thought about it. "Hang on a minute - sir - lord - whatever. What about my Dad? Where is he? I'm not doing anything before I see him."

To her side, she could see Cathbad looking at her as if she'd just crawled out from under a stone.

The Ard Ri leaned forward on his throne. "You, girl, are in no position to refuse to do anything I want of you."

Branwen took a deep breath - it was too late to wish for the floor to open up under her; she just had to plough on. "I thought there was an agreement, my lord," she said. Her voice had come out a lot squeakier than she had expected. She swallowed hard, and carried on. "I want to be sure my father's alive. I won't do anything for you otherwise."

The Ard Ri beckoned to one of the men standing around the throne. They murmured together. Then he turned back to Branwen. "I have gone to a lot of trouble to get you here," he said. "You had better be worth it." He raised his voice slightly. "Never let it be said that Morgannwg of Ytir breaks his agreements. The traitor Malcolm Petroc should arrive here within the next three days. On the day after that, the army will strike camp and make ready for the invasion. And you, girl, will be ready to do your part in it." He looked across at Cathbad. "I expect you to see to it," he said. "Make sure she knows exactly what she is expected to do."

Branwen thought that would be it, but when she started to turn away, Cathbad gave her a nudge to turn back to the throne.

"There is something else that is needful," the Ard Ri said. One of his entourage handed him a silver torc. "You are my _yspridwch_ , and you must give your oath to me."

Branwen could feel everyone watching her now - and she could tell there was no way to get out of doing this. She remembered Arian kneeling in front of Mal, and went to kneel in front of the throne. That seemed to go down well with the audience, and with Morgannwg.

The Ard Ri held up the torc, with the boar's head finials. "Accept this torc as a symbol that you belong to the Boar Clan, and will be faithful to me as the head of the Boar Clan, and as Ard Ri of all Ytir," he said.

She held her hands out, and he gave her the torc. Fumbling a little, she slipped it round her neck. Now she just had to remember what Arian had said. "By the Spear and the Sword and the Stone and the Cauldron, I will be faithful to you," she said - and wished she could cross her fingers while she was saying it, because she had no intention of honouring the oath.

The Ard Ri took both her hands between his. "Then I make the contract of _lanamnas_ with you," he said, " _Yspridwch_ Branwen of the Boar Clan." He nodded across her head to Cathbad. "Now, let's see what she can do."

Gwen took Arian and the boys up to the top of the square tower at the end of the hall range. From there they could see right across the orchards to the woods beyond, and they could see the road Simon would take from the wooden bridge over the little river. Above them, Simon's yellow and maroon banner flapped in a brisk breeze. Davy and Ti-Malcolm were amusing themselves by running up and down the walkway around the edge of the roof, and peering out of the crenellations. Occasionally, Ti-Simon went after them to grab the backs of their tunics and haul them back from where they had been peering over the edge. Islay ran up and down with them, but kept looking up at the flag with deep mistrust, crouching low when the fabric cracked in the wind. Eventually, the noises from above were too much for her, and she crept back down the stairs and out of view. Davy followed her. Arian was torn between following them to make sure the dog didn't get into any trouble, and looking out for Simon.

When he and his men appeared, leading the horse that Branwen had been riding, she wasn't sure whether to feel glad he was back, or miserable because Branwen wasn't. Gwen was looking serious, too. "It seems it all went smoothly," she said, wrapping her wool shawl more closely around her as the wind caught the fringed end of it.

When the three men reached the bridge at the bottom of the hill, Gwen led the way downstairs and out into the yard. Davy was already sitting on the steps in front of the hall doors, sharing a pasty with Islay and two other dogs.

Simon drew rein in front of the hall steps, dismounted, and tossed his barrel helm to the servant who came to take the horse's reins. "It's done, then," he said grimly. He turned back to the two men who'd ridden with him. "We'd better get together with Master Annersley now," he said. "We haven't much time to prepare our defences now that the Ard Ri's got what he wants."

He stopped at the top of the steps to wrap his arms around Gwen's waist as he bent to kiss her.

"It'll be war, then," she said calmly.

"And soon," Simon said. "When everything's in hand here, I'll have to go up to Chateau Galliard to report to the Earl Marshal in person. Ti-Simon, you come with me now - you need to know what's going on here." He ruffled Ti-Malcolm's hair in greeting. "You look after your mother when we're away," he said. "You'll be the man of the house." The eleven year old nodded solemnly. As Davy bounced up the steps to greet his father, Ti-Malcolm took his hand firmly.

Arian stood to one side, feeling very much out of place. They were speaking Occitan, too fast for her to follow - she only knew a few phrases. She wished she knew what was going on.

Simon noticed her standing there, and paused before he went inside. "I'd feel happier about you if you'd stick with one of my sons whenever you leave the manor house," he said, switching to Tiraeg for her. "We know who you are, but we don't want anyone else thinking they've got themselves a Tiraeg spy when they meet you." He sighed, and pushed a hand back through his hair. "It would have been better if you could have come here with Mal," he said. "We could have shown you all the places we used to go when we were kids together. Now he's not here and I won't have time. I regret that."

"I wish Dad were here, too," she said, in a small voice, "instead of wherever he is. I wish I'd been able to come here years ago - but mother always wanted me to stay with her."

Mal was on the edge of the great stretch of forest called The Chase, sitting on a low rise above boggy ground while the horses grazed and everyone except him ate lunch.

He sat on the edge of the group with his knees up, and watched a pair of buzzards wheeling over the trees. When he grew tired of watching the buzzards, he stared out over the boggy ground around them. It was thick with cotton grass and reeds, and he could see dragonflies hunting.

He ached. It had been ten years since he last sat a horse for any length of time, and he'd spent the previous night attempting to get some sleep on a bare stone floor. And his wrists hurt. As soon as the numbness in his arms had worn off, he had started to feel it, the low grade burning sensation where the iron shackles touched his skin. It wasn't serious pain, but it was constant, and he didn't want to look too closely at the damage it was causing.

The Captain gave the order to mount up, and two of the troopers yanked Mal to his feet. They led him down the slope to where the horses were being rounded up - and then he found himself sprawling forwards into a bog pool, up to his elbows in stinking water. He looked round, to see one of the troopers smirking down at him. There was laughter from some of the others.

"He slipped, sir," the trooper said.

Mal got to his feet, dripping.

"Get him on the horse," the Captain said, turning away.

Mal waded to the bank of the pool and one of the troopers put an arm out to grab him \- and pushed, hard. Mal staggered backwards and tried to put his arms out to save himself. The shackles jerked against his wrists and he yelped with the pain of it. He twisted round as he fell to save himself from going under. The splash was loud and spectacular, and all the troopers laughed.

Mal sat, up to his chest in the black, stinking water, gritting his teeth against the agony from his wrists. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and tried to get up.

"Get a move on," the Captain said. "We haven't got all day."

Mal got to his feet again, slowly, and splashed to the side of the pool. This time, the trooper who put an arm out to him grabbed the chain between the shackles, and pulled him out onto the bank with it. Mal's vision went grey, and he staggered. Grinning, the trooper jerked the chain again, and the other man pushed him towards the horse. He collided with its flank and leaned there, shaking.

He couldn't mount. He couldn't even reach up to grasp the pommel. They boosted him up into the saddle, and he slumped there, and lurched as the horse began to move. He couldn't hold onto the pommel again, not because his hands were numb this time, but because of the fresh deep burns around his wrists from the Cold Iron.

Branwen curled up on the window seat in the corner of the room and leaned back. Cathbad's little friend in the yellow had gone off to find some sort of refreshments - it had been a long time since she had breakfast, and the two _yspridwch_ had been working her hard since they had left the presence of the Ard Ri. The first thing they had done was to present her with a staff. It even had a knob on the top, just like the song in Terry Pratchett - and she wasn't altogether sure what she was supposed to do with it. Some sort of battery charger for difficult magic, she assumed, though she hadn't needed it so far. She was thinking of Sharon McCready in the Champions, in the episode where she had been kidnapped and tested to see what her powers were - and Sharon had cheated, pretending to be a lot weaker than she actually was. Branwen was cheating, too - and at the same time she was watching Cathbad, to see what he was capable of. He seemed to be senior _yspridwch_ here, so probably pretty capable to be so highly thought of at Court - and so far she wasn't very impressed. He seemed to have to touch a person in order to control their mind - they had been practicing on some poor servant with a copper torc. Branwen had made the woman raise her hands above her head from across the room. In fact, she hadn't worked out what her range was yet - across the room had been easy.

Down below the window, in the courtyard, there was a stable girl, holding a horse's reins. It only took a moment's concentration to make the girl scratch her nose, and then put the end of her plait in her mouth and suck at it, and while Branwen was doing that, she was also finding out what the girl's name was, and which Dun she had come from.

Branwen thought about distance, and she thought about telepathy. Was it possible to find out where Mal was, and what he was doing? She had only a hazy idea of how far a horse could travel in a day (and why hadn't they gone to bring him through a Portal, like they'd done with her?), but the Ard Ri had said he'd be here in about three days. That was pretty far, probably, and she had no idea which direction he might be coming from. She wasn't sure how she could make contact, either \- though Mirrors seemed to work by the user visualising the person at the other end, so she thought she might try that.

She thought of Mal on the night they'd gone to Caergwrle, looking serious, and wearing that old black sweatshirt with the picture of the Starship Enterprise starting to peel away from the front....

....Her wrists hurt, so bad she had to clench her teeth. Beyond that, there was a general sense of aching, and weariness, and the jogging of a horse's gait. Wherever he was, it was raining hard. Just for a moment, she was looking out of his eyes, at the backs of troopers riding ahead of him. Their leather cloaks were slick with rain, and the horses were almost wading through the mud of the road. She felt sweatshirt and jeans soaked through to the skin; even his trainers were letting in water. He was the only one there not wearing a cloak, and he was miserably cold.

She blinked, almost shocked that it had worked, and the impression vanished. She huddled up on the window seat miserably. Somewhere out there, her father was tired, and hungry, and hurting, and there was nothing she could do. She shivered, suddenly, at the thought that, if she hadn't come to Rath Mochnant, he would be coming there to die.

Dylan brought back a plate of chicken pasties, and three mugs of beer, and after that they took her to a bigger room.

The first thing she noticed as she went in was the floor to ceiling window at the far end, glittering with what looked like thousands of tiny panes of glass. She hadn't thought a window like that was possible, in a place that seemed to her to be so primitive in other ways. The rain had started here now, and she could hear the wind gusting outside, and blowing raindrops against the glass. She shivered, thinking of Mal, out in the weather, drenched and suffering.

The second thing she noticed was the large table in the centre of the room and, bending over the table, a young woman with short chestnut hair curling over her collar. Branwen was getting the hang of looking for the torcs now - this woman wore gold, with a boar's head. "I thought I'd come and see how Branwen's getting along," she said.

Cathbad bowed. "We're cautiously optimistic, Lady Brede," he said. "We've been running through some simple exercises, and now we thought it was time to show her what she'll be expected to do."

Branwen wandered over to the table. Someone had spent a lot of time making a model of rolling countryside, with contoured hills and painted blue rivers. Scattered about the map were little wooden castles and villages, and even little fields and orchards. She couldn't imagine what she was supposed to do with it, unless they expected her to be like one of those girls in the old war films, moving models of Spitfires around on big maps of England.

"It is ambitious," came a voice from beside the fireplace. Branwen turned. She hadn't noticed anyone there at first. A tall man was leaning on the mantelpiece. His dark beard was neatly clipped, and his dark red tunic was stiff with gold embroidery. His torc, though, was silver. There was an _yspridwch's_ staff propped up against the wall beside him.

"Off hand," the man continued, "I can only think of two _yspridwch_ in the last fifty years who could have done it. Are you sure she's that good?"

"We think so," said Dylan, darting a faintly hostile look at the other man. "This is Manannan Lir, the Heir's _yspridwch_ ," he added, for Branwen's benefit.

Cathbad had gone to stand at one end of the table. "Come and look at this," he said, sounding exactly like one of Branwen's teachers calling an unruly class to attention. "This is Nantyglasdwr - what they call in Occitan Vale Segur. Here's the Glasdwr river running down the centre of the valley, and all the castles and villages are exactly as they'd appear if you were a bird flying over them. Rath Mochnant is just off the table at this side, here - so our army will be advancing in this direction. The Duke of Segur is, at present, here." He waved a hand towards one of the castles at the far end of the table. "He's besieging one of his vassals - one of those quarrels that the Palatine Dukes seem to have all the time. There are some of his forces near the river - we haven't been able to ascertain exactly how many - and of course, there are the protection spells, around the castles, and along the river. Your task will be to dismantle all the enemy protection spells that lie in the way of our army, while the Duke is otherwise engaged. We will, of course, be going through the different sorts of protection spell with you over the next two days."

_Your mission, should you choose to accept it...._ she thought - except there was no choice.

"So, why can't you lot do it?" she asked, rudely.

Manannan came over to join them. "Some of us will be with the invasion force, of course," he said, with a slight emphasis on the 'some' as he gave Dylan a contemptuous glance. "But on the ground, even the best of us can only deal with what we can see - a single castle, for instance. Doing it that way, it's easy to get bogged down. What we need is a clean sweep across the whole valley - and you, I trust, are going to give it to us."

Branwen looked down at the table again. "I don't suppose there's a scale on this thing?" she asked. She looked round at blank faces. "Thought not. Can anyone tell me just how big this is, please?"

They couldn't, not really. She didn't know how fast a horse could travel, and they didn't know what a kilometre was.

After a while, she gave up. "Big, anyway," she said. "I don't know if I can do it." She turned away from the table, hugging herself unhappily.

"If you can't," said Cathbad, "then Morgannwg will execute the traitor Malcolm Petroc."

"Great," Branwen muttered. "Wonderful."

Brede came to stand beside her. "All this," she took in the table top diorama with a sweep of her hand, "doesn't really mean much to you, does it?"

Branwen shrugged. It was true. The only Occitan people she had ever met were Simon and his family, and she'd liked them.

"Let me explain some of the background," Brede went on. "I don't imagine Malcolm Petroc will have discussed this with you."

"Why should he have?" Branwen muttered rebelliously. "We didn't think we'd ever come back here."

"So, there are a few things you won't understand," Brede said.

Cautiously, Branwen reached out with her mind to examine everything that Brede said, and determine if she was telling the truth. Brede gave no sign of being aware of the scrutiny - though she thought Manannnan might be aware of what she was doing.

"That land, all of it, on both sides of the river, is Ytir," said Brede, "the Land of the Goddess. Over the years, we've tried various ways of getting it back - negotiation, intermarriage, that sort of thing. None of it worked. The invaders are still occupying our land."

"So, isn't it their land now, then?" Branwen asked. She saw no reason why she had to be polite to Brede, even if she was Morgannwg's heir.

"It isn't just the land," Brede said impatiently, "though that's important. It's the people too. Do you imagine that the land was empty when the Palatinate invaders arrived? The Dukes and their vassals are all Occitan, from the lands to the west, but most of the peasants there are Tiraeg. They stayed on their land when the invaders came, only to find that the new laws their conquerors made took away all their ancient rights. They're not free to travel, or marry, or apprentice their children to a trade - and they were forcibly converted to the new religion the invaders brought with them. The shrines were taken over or destroyed, and the groves were cut down. They tried to suppress all memory of the Goddess of the Land."

"But that's awful! Dad never said anything about this," Branwen said. It crossed her mind that she had never been interested in talking about where they'd come from, so the subject had never come up - but, still, forcibly converting people to a new religion had to be a bad thing to do, didn't it?

"Of course, he would have explained it differently - after all, he lived amongst them," Brede said. "I suppose that's how he justified kidnapping you after the Ard Ri had taken you under his protection."

Branwen shrugged. It all sounded plausible, but she was sure Brede was trying to persuade her of something that wasn't quite right. There was nothing she could put her finger on, but she was starting to think that she couldn't trust Brede's take on things. For a start, Mal hadn't kidnapped her - he'd sat down and explained what was happening to her, and asked her what she wanted to do. No-one else had done that. And yet - it would probably be safest to pretend to go along with whatever Brede suggested. "Do you really think Dad was lying to me?" she asked, uncertainly.

"Not exactly lying \- more justifying his own position," Brede said. "I'm sure he loves you in his own way."

_You bitch_ , Branwen thought. Now she was sure she couldn't trust Brede.

"I'm not sure I know what to think, now," she said slowly, and as plaintively as she could.

"You're beginning to see, now, aren't you?" Brede said. "Malcolm Petroc's loyalty was always slightly suspect. He was too close to them. I suppose he never told you how women are treated there, in the land that was once sacred to the Goddess?"

This was obviously a subject close to Brede's heart - every word burned with truthful intensity now. "I don't know what it's like where he took you to, but in Ytir women have power. In a few days, I'll be leading my troops in the invasion personally, and some of those troops will be the women of our Clan. In the Palatinate, women are not allowed to fight for themselves. They can't defend themselves; they can't go to war, and they can't make their own decisions. The men of the Palatinate treat the women as their property. It's legal there for men to beat their wives and force their daughters to marry. When we rule there again, all those women will be free to choose for themselves, as they are here."

"But - I met Lady Gwen," Branwen protested feebly. "She didn't look very oppressed."

"Maybe not, on the surface," Brede said. "Maybe they don't miss what they've never had." She dismissed thoughts of Lady Gwen with a wave of her hand.

"This war will help all those women," she continued, "and all those others who suffer under unjust laws. Think of all those people, Tiraeg people, who deserve the same freedoms as their cousins on this side of the border. You see, however long it's been since the invaders came, we don't forget our own people, and we look after our own."

That all sounded fine to Branwen, in principle, but she wasn't so sure it worked out quite so well in practice. "If that's true," she said, temporarily abandoning her bid to appear convinced by Brede's arguments, "why did no-one ever pay the ransom for Dad?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" Brede asked in surprise. "The old lord refused to send him back."

It was hard to concentrate, after that. She kept going back to that thought, of Mal at the age of nine, stuck in a foreign country, and old Sir Simon Valery refusing to accept the ransom for him. Why would he do that? And had Mal ever suspected it?

She didn't have much time to puzzle it out, though. Cathbad and Dylan kept her too busy, running through every variation of protection spell they could think off - how to put them up, and how to take them down. And she had to remind herself to keep the power turned down, so she wasn't working at her full capacity.

It was an exhausting afternoon.

After dinner, they locked her into a tower room. However much power she had, no _yspridwch_ could do anything about iron bolts and an iron lock and key. She was stuck there. She hadn't seen her rucksack since she arrived, either, and it certainly wasn't in the bedroom. She suspected that she'd never see it again. All she had left of her old life were the clothes she stood up in, and her memories - and they'd probably find a way of taking her clothes away too.

There was a nightdress laid out on the bed, and she put it on. She didn't want anyone walking in on her when she wasn't wearing anything. She took the torc off, too - it was starting to feel as if it was choking her.

She curled up under the covers. Her mind felt - bloated, with all the new information she'd had to assimilate. She thought she could handle any sort of protection spell that was thrown at her now, though. The hard part of the day had been all the information that wasn't technical - like what was happening to her Dad, and all that stuff that Brede had been telling her.

The picture she'd painted of oppressed peasants and down-trodden women was quite unlike the impression Branwen had got of Valery, but she hadn't been there for very long, and she'd really only talked to Simon's family. She rolled on her side, and thumped the pillow into a more comfortable shape, rather more violently than she needed to. If Mal really had grown up in a place where women were oppressed, she suspected that she would have been doing the housework for years. The flat might not be spotless - after eight years they still hadn't got round to buying a Hoover - but he had taken care of most of what needed doing. He'd even ironed her school blouses for her - and not many Dads would do that.

And then there was the bombshell about old Sir Simon keeping Mal there when he was a kid. Branwen sighed. She liked Simon Valery. She wanted to believe that his father wouldn't have done that - and Mal had said he was happy there. Would he have been so happy if he'd known that there was a family in Ytir that had wanted him back?

She thought about Arian saying that she thought Mal had been a spy. Brede had said almost the same thing - yet when Arian had asked him about it, he'd laughed.

She'd only just met Brede, and she wasn't even sure she liked her - and there was that distressing fuzziness around some of the statements she'd made, that niggling feeling of wrongness that Branwen couldn't quite pin down to anything definite.

She'd known Mal all her life - all her life that mattered, anyway - and she knew that he'd always been honest with her. _Go with what you know,_ Branwen told herself sternly. _Don't let Brede rattle you._

*****

Getting Ready

It was still raining when they rode into the castle courtyard that night. The rain had slowed their progress so much that it was almost full dark when they arrived, and Mal only had a vague impression of high walls and thick oak gates as they entered. There were servants ready to take the horses, and the troopers got under cover as quickly as they could, hustling Mal with them. Two of the troopers followed a servant with a lantern down a stairway that levelled out onto a corridor that led off into the dark. In the open space at the bottom of the stairs, three guards wearing a purple and white livery were sitting round a small table, playing at dice. One of them picked up a ring of keys and opened up a door halfway along the corridor. Mal noticed the eagle's heads on the finials of his torc, but couldn't remember which Great Family had the eagle as their emblem. He supposed it didn't really matter, anyway. They pushed him inside the cell, and before the lantern went away, one of them put a jug just inside the doorway and tossed something - a crust of bread, maybe? - into the cell after him.

Then he was alone in the dark, and he couldn't stop shivering.

The jug proved to contain water, but drinking it was a problem. His wrists wouldn't take the weight, and he ended up cradling it awkwardly in his arms. He thought about searching for the bread, but it didn't seem worth the effort.

The bolts on the door drew back, and he looked up anxiously. He thought they'd leave him alone until the morning. A dark shape, swathed in a cloak, appeared for a moment in the lighter gloom of the corridor, and slid round the door. "The Castellydd's compliments." It was a woman's voice, pitched low under the sounds of the men at arms talking at the end of the corridor. "I've brought you something to dispel the cold."

Mal felt a warm hand on his arm, and his hands were wrapped around a hot mug. He could smell something spicy - and it was light enough for him to lift to his mouth with only a small twinge of pain.

"It's all right," the woman said. "I'm Nas Tegau, the Steward. I didn't come through the guard room, you see. The Captain would be rather annoyed if he knew there was another entrance to the dungeons."

"I appreciate the kindness," Mal said. The spicy drink was warming him nicely. He could taste ginger in it, and ginger was expensive here. His clothes were still hanging in sodden folds, but he was starting to feel a bit more like himself.

"When you've finished that," the woman said, "there's this." She guided his hand to a bowl. He could smell beef stew, and his stomach reminded him just how long it had been since he last had anything decent to eat. While he scraped the bowl with the spoon, she moved around beside him, laying out a couple of blankets. "I'm sorry we couldn't do anything about the wet clothes, but anything like that would be noticed," she said.

"It's much more than I expected," Mal said. "Can you tell me who the Castellydd is, at least? I'd like to know who to feel grateful to."

"This is Dinefor, and the Lord is Rhodri Ithel." The woman picked up the mug and bowl and moved towards the door. "He has to entertain the Captain, but he said he'd try to see you later."

She slipped outside, and Mal heard the bolts slide quietly home.

He wrapped the blankets round himself, and leaned back against the wall.

He remembered Rhodri Ithel. He had given the young man harp lessons and they had become friends even after Rhodri had realised that his talents definitely didn't include musical ability. Mal wondered if this secret hospitality meant that there might be a few people at Court on his side.

He had nodded off when the noise of the bolts being quietly drawn back roused him and the door opened again. He could hear the rustle of a formal silk robe as the man squatted down beside him on the floor.

"Rhodri? I'd say it was good to see you again, but the circumstances are a bit unfortunate."

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more for you," Rhodri said, "but Captain Emrys has really got it in for you."

"They've all got it in for me," Mal said, ruefully. "I did burn down their castle, and I think I killed a few people - friends of theirs, I imagine. And after all - I am on my way to what is probably going to be a very public and very painful execution, so I don't think they have much incentive to keep me in good condition."

"So he's let you think that, has he?" Rhodri said. "It's not true. The Ard Ri wants you alive. The _yspridwch_ girl has given herself up to him, in return for your life."

Mal groaned. "What did she do a stupid thing like that for?" he muttered. "She doesn't know what she's getting into...." He sighed. "Hostage is better than dead," he said, "but - this is what we were running away from, and now the Ard Ri will have his war after all."

"And soon - the army's mustered at Rath Mochnant, practically on the banks of the Glasdwr. All they have to do is ford the river and they're in Segur," Rhodri said. "That's where you're going," he added.

"And it won't stop at Segur," Mal said. "Any chance that the Dukes will stop fighting each other long enough to oppose the Ard Ri?"

"That bunch? They couldn't co-operate if their lives depended on it."

"Which in fact they do," Mal added. "That's what I thought. Who's he got as general?"

"Brychan," Rhodri said, "with Cynan in the north, and Brede leading the Boar Clan."

"And they're the hot knife, and Segur is the butter," Mal said. "And after Segur, where? Andelys? Moissac?"

"Moissac first, I think," Rhodri said. "The Duke there is inexperienced, and arrogant, and there aren't many left in his Court of his father's generation. Andelys will be a tougher nut to crack, but it'll fall, without backup from any of the other Duchies." There was a long pause. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"Better to know than not," Mal said, "and I thank you for it." He yawned widely.

"I'd better let you sleep," Rhodri said. "And I'm setting off myself to join the army in the morning with my levy - there was no way to refuse." There was a rustle of silk, and a stealthy sliding of bolts, and he was gone.

Mal dreamed of Valery. He was in the orchards, climbing a tree - and he was watching the castle burning.

Dawn at Valery meant horses milling in the courtyard, and the household gathered on the steps to see Simon and Ti-Simon off. Four of Simon's men at arms were mounting up by the gate. Simon slipped an arm round his wife's waist and watched Ti-Simon mount and take the Valery banner from Master Annersley. "I'll be as quick as I can about this," he said. "Expect me from the day after tomorrow, anyway."

Gwen went with him down the steps. While he mounted his horse, she turned to her eldest son and reached up to clasp his hand. "Do your best in the Earl Marshal's service," she said. Ti-Simon was wearing his squire's livery, a burgundy surcoat with the Rising Sun of the Earl Marshal's badge in gold on the right breast. He looked, somehow, very competent.

Simon wheeled his horse towards the gate, and the other riders followed him out and down the long lane to the bridge. Davy was the only one who waved. Ti-Malcolm was too busy trying to look solemn and adult beside his mother, and Gwen was staring down out of the gate after her husband and son as if she was totally alone on the steps.

Arian stood close to Gwen, feeling awkward. All the history she'd ever learned had been from the perspective of someone outside a castle like this, trying to get in. She'd never thought of it from the point of view of a Palatine family going off to war, and she knew enough about the realities of war to realise that Ti-Simon might not come back.

Abruptly, Gwen turned away from the gate, managing a bright smile for Davy. "Master Annersley," she said briskly, "I hope you've got the accounts of our supplies ready for me to look at - and I must go down to see Father Christophe later, to see how preparations in the village are going. Have my palfrey and Ti-Malcolm's pony brought round in an hour or so, would you?"

Arian followed her into the hall, wondering what was going on now. "Lady Gwen," she said, hesitantly, "are you in charge now? I thought it would be him." She waved a hand towards the steward, who had bowed and was now bustling off towards one of the towers.

Gwen looked surprised, and then smiled properly, without the lines of strain that had been round her mouth when she watched Simon ride out. "You don't believe that all I do is languish in some tower doing my embroidery while my lord is away, do you?" she asked.

Arian looked at the floor and went pink. This was exactly what she thought Palatine women did when the men were away.

"While Simon's gone, this is my manor, and my responsibility, and Master Annersley is here to help me, not to take over from me." She ushered them all to the top table, where the servants had already laid out food for breakfast, and were bringing mugs of ale through from the kitchen. Half of the staff had already eaten, but there were still a good few people scattered up and down the long tables for the second sitting. "I have a lot to get through this morning," Gwen went on, "with Ti-Malcolm's help, and I'm afraid if anyone's going to be languishing in a tower with embroidery today, it's going to be you, my dear. I don't think it's wise for you to go wandering around the village at the moment, things being as they are."

Arian blushed even more furiously. "I hate embroidery," she muttered. Then she brightened up. "I could take Dad's harp out and practice instead," she said. "I've even learnt an Occitan song from him."

The tents were spread out all around the ancient hillfort of Rath Mochnant, and Captain Emrys took them through the middle of the encampment at a fast enough pace that only a few people noticed Mal before he had passed by them. There were only a few cat calls, and nobody threw anything.

The gates to the hillfort were open, and they rode right up to the newer castle buildings on the far side of it. Mal could see tents and banners everywhere, from all the Great Families and their client clans, and ox carts being loaded up, and horse lines - there were even some chariots from the Eastern Plains.

On the steps of the castle, Captain Emrys handed Mal over to a troop of guards in red livery, with boars' heads on the finials of their torcs. They marched him through a courtyard and into one of the towers. Inside, two of them collected lanterns. One of them led the way down a spiral stair, and the others came in behind Mal.

It was all done so quickly that he didn't have time to react. One minute he was walking down the stairs, and the next there was a thump on his back and he was bouncing off the wall to land in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. He lay still, and groaned. He'd hit quite a few of the stairs on the way down.

One of the guards kicked him, and when he didn't make any attempt to get up, they picked him up and slung him into a cell. After that, one of them leaned over Mal - and unlocked the shackles from round his wrists.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there. A light in his eyes brought him round. Squinting, he could see a lantern sitting on the floor a little distance away. Close to the lantern, he could see a pair of grey boots. The rest of the figure was swallowed up in the darkness beyond the candle flame. Someone else was kneeling next to him, but all he could see was a portion of red tunic, embroidered in gold.

He couldn't move at all.

The grey boots moved, and a young woman squatted down in his line of vision. Lady Brede, designated Heir to Morgannwg Ard Ri, had come to see him for herself. "Malcolm Petroc," she said. "You've caused us a lot of trouble."

Mal found that, though he couldn't move his body, he was still able to speak. "That was sort of the idea," he said.

"General Brychan will be wanting compensation for his Castellydd at Caergwrle," she continued, "and for the other two men who died. There are two others who are unable to walk. What a pity you have no kindred to collect the payment from."

It seemed safest to say nothing to this.

"I wish I had time to question you more fully," Brede went on. "In a way, you did us a favour by disappearing - a sixteen year old _yspridwch_ is far easier to work with than a six year old. It's interesting, though. She seems to have had some training. I wonder who can have given it to her?"

"She worked most of it out for herself," Mal said. "She's been reading a lot of fantasy novels."

There was pain, then, a great jolt of agony that made him twitch where he lay despite the paralysis Brede's _yspridwch_ had laid on him. Then it was gone, and he lay gasping.

"You must have been working for someone," Brede said. "It would be much easier for you if you just told me who they are."

"'Fraid I can't help you there," Mal said, with an effort. "Wasn't working with anyone."

"I told you he'd be unco-operative," the man in red said.

She smiled at him. "And you are usually right - I should listen to you more often," she said. "See what you can find."

Mal wanted to shiver, but even that small movement was denied him. He didn't know how long he would be able to keep the _yspridwch_ out of his head in his present condition - and this was Manannan Lir, one of the most powerful _yspridwch_ in Ytir. Now he knew why the guard had taken the shackles off him - Manannan wouldn't have wanted to go near anyone with Cold Iron about them.

He could tell them the truth, of course, but he doubted whether Brede would believe it. She wanted there to be a conspiracy. Honest doubts - and that last minute revulsion once he had met the little girl they planned to use as their weapon - had no place in Brede's view of the universe.

He lowered his defences, to let Manannan see that - but he knew that Brede wouldn't be satisfied, and Manannan would dig deeper, and it would hurt....

The maid woke Branwen early. They had left her alone for most of the day before - and she'd spent most of it dozing, or eating. Doing serious magic, she was finding, knocked the stuffing out of her - and they would want her to be rested for the invasion. It didn't seem quite real yet - just a model on a table - and she wouldn't be anywhere near any actual fighting.

Her father was supposed to be here by now. If he wasn't, then she wouldn't be doing anything for the Ard Ri. There had been dreams in the night, though, that worried her - she couldn't remember any details, but there had been darkness, and screaming.

She picked at her breakfast toast, drank the warm goat's milk, and finally couldn't put it off any longer. She had to get up.

The maid had laid out a new outfit for her, a white brocade tunic trimmed with some sort of white fur, and white wool trousers. She looked for her trainers, but they had gone now, like all her other belongings, and had been replaced by short cream leather boots. When she put it all on, and looked down at herself, she felt as if she was about to audition to help out at Santa's Grotto.

Cathbad looked quite pleased with her when he arrived. He was wearing red and white - she'd been here long enough to have worked out that they were the Ard Ri's colours - and apart from the lack of beard, he looked even more like a department store Santa. Branwen was finding it very hard to take any of this seriously. She picked up her wizard's staff with the knob on top, and was about to follow him out when he stopped her.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" he asked.

She started to shake her head, then noticed the silver torc that she'd left on the side table the night before. Of course, they'd want her to wear that.

The room with the map table in it was already quite full when they arrived - and everybody there was wearing a gold torc. Apart from the boars of the Ard Ri's clan, she noticed dog finials, and dragons, a couple of stags with antlers twined up the sides of the torc, and one solitary woman with some sort of twisted bone that glowed. Everybody was being very respectful to her.

What Branwen hadn't expected were all the clashing bright colours. White seemed very restrained compared to that purple tunic and orange plaid, for instance - what had _he_ been thinking when he got dressed that morning?

Branwen kept close to Cathbad, and waited. Nobody came to talk to her. The Ard Ri came in, dressed in a long red robe, and seated himself in the only chair in the room, near the head of the table. Shortly after that, the doors opened again, and two guards in red livery came in. There was another man between them, dressed in a plain brown tunic and trousers.

Branwen's hand went up to her mouth in shock. Mal looked haggard, with the beginnings of a beard and greasy hair. One side of his face had a purple bruise down it. He looked as if he'd just walked out of a car crash.

The two guards brought him before the Ard Ri, and forced him down onto his knees. Mal looked Morgannwg in the eye, and said nothing.

Branwen was aware of Cathbad's hand on her arm, but she ignored it. She got as close as she could before they stopped her. " _Oh, Dad - you look terrible!"_ she said, automatically speaking English.

"You shouldn't have come back," he said, "but - thank you."

She shrugged. "Well, you know," she said, following his lead and changing to Tiraeg, "the needs of the few, and all that."

"Or the one," Mal answered promptly. "Where's the Starship Enterprise when you need her, eh?"

"We have an agreement, Branwen _yspridwch_ ," Morgannwg interrupted. "The traitor is alive, which is all you need to know, and he will stay alive as long as you do as you're told. If you do have any thoughts of disobeying now, put them out of your mind. Cross me, and he will suffer for it."

"Looks like he's been suffering already," Branwen muttered. " _You bastard,_ " she added in English. Now she'd seen what they'd done to Mal, she was more determined than ever to get them both out of here \- she'd just have to be certain that whatever she tried worked first time.

Dylan had been standing behind the Ard Ri's chair, and now he leaned forwards and murmured something in Morgannwg's ear.

"I think we are ready to begin," the Ard Ri said. "Our vanguard is in position by the ford. Now we'll see if you were worth all the trouble we've taken."

Branwen turned towards the table, frowning. There was no way out of it now. Behind her, the guards had hauled Mal to his feet and had taken him to stand to one side, out of the way of the Great Lords and Ladies.

Cathbad leaned over the table and pointed out the place where the river was shallow enough to cross - if the protection spell on the other side was taken down. She sighed, and rubbed her hands together, and began to concentrate.

It had been easier, she had found while they were practicing, to be able to visualise the spells that she needed to work with. The one by the river became visible as a narrow band of mist, that solidified into something almost like cotton wool, only greyer and more translucent. Branwen leaned across the table, and touched it with a finger. It clung to her, and she began to gather up every wisp of it from the table, bundle it up in her hands - and then she made it disappear.

"Now, the road to Chateau Battaille," Cathbad said. He'd told her about that - the first ever castle to be built on Tiraeg land, after the Battle of Nantyglasdwr. Now they wanted it to be the first castle to be destroyed.

The map was becoming more real the more she looked at it. She could see sunlight glinting on the broad meanders of the Glasdwr river, the fields of green grain moving slightly in a breeze, threads of smoke curling up from tiny cottages. Now, where were the spells....?

While she was doing that, she was thinking furiously. She might never get a chance to be this close to Mal again, and they had to get out of here. 'Starship Enterprise', he'd said. If she could open a Portal right here - if she could get close enough to him - she might just be able to do it.

He was working on that. She could feel his presence behind her - everyone in the room was leaning in for a closer look, even the two guards, and they were really quite close to her now. She could feel his throbbing headache, and pain in his wrists - but despite that, he was concentrating on a small spell of his own.

She leaned forwards, and collected up a spider's web of filaments from their place over the castle. Some of them were thicker and darker, and she had to tug quite hard to pull them free - and then the castle, and the small town around it, was open to the invading army.

"Over here, now," Cathbad said, pointing with the tip of his staff. She followed the line of the valley, and saw - a church? More like an abbey. Probably a bunch of defenceless monks, then. As slowly as she dared, she visualised the spells that protected it.

There was a ginger haired man just behind her and to one side, between her and Mal. She moved round the table for a better view of the abbey, and he shuffled sideways. When she spared him a glance, she could see that he was looking distinctly uncomfortable. She looked down, quickly, before turning her attention back to the table, and was sure she had seen smoke rising from one of his boots. Suddenly, he hopped sideways with a look of surprise on his face - and Mal fell into the space he had left like a ton of bricks.

One of the guards made an attempt to catch him, and just missed. Branwen dropped what she was doing on the table and whirled round with a cry of dismay. She knelt down beside Mal, who groaned.

" _Beam us up, Scotty,"_ he said, and winked at her.

Branwen leaned over him, her hands on either side of his shoulders. It would be harder, if they couldn't physically step through the Portal, but she could do it this way if she had to. It was just a case of getting the Portal to form around them both. Pearly light appeared around her hands, and then arced around both their bodies and formed a dome over them. The people in the room faded to shadows on the other side of it. The wrench of leaving one magic half done to start a new one made her feel sick, but the shields around them stabilised and strengthened.

Cathbad and Dylan were already trying to hold her back. She felt their power sliding along the outside of her shields, and felt desperately for the connection to home that she needed. There wasn't going to be much time....

"There's no place like home. There's no place like home," she muttered. "Come on - you've got to be there somewhere...." When she found Hay, in all the multiverse, she clung onto the connection like a lifeline. She was dimly aware of violet lightenings crackling round her shoulders, on the other side of the shields. She sagged, and then straightened her arms again, as if she was shouldering a heavy burden. She was sweating now, and rigid with effort.

Then there was the sensation of a burning wind, and falling, and darkness, and Mal clutched at the front of her tunic as they spun down into an abyss....

He hit the ground hard, still on his back, and the impact knocked all the breath out of him. Branwen collapsed on top of him limply, and lay still.

*****

There's no place like home

Afterwards, he couldn't imagine how he'd done it, but at the time, all he could think of was that they mustn't be seen. They were lying in a huddled heap, with Branwen's head and shoulders across his chest, on the little patch of lawn outside the library. Directly in Mal's line of sight was the red and white banner of the Poetry Bookshop.

They were so close to home - and he had no key to get in.

Cassie's house was even nearer.

Painfully, he staggered to his feet, bringing Branwen's limp body with him. She was a dead weight, as heavy as he was, and he was so tired.... Somehow, he dragged her round the corner to lean, exhausted, against the wall next to Cassie's back door. He thumped at the glass with his elbow.

Inside, he could hear Brock barking, and Cassie yelling, "Shut up, Brock!" She opened the door, dragged Brock back by the collar, and looked up to see who it was.

Mal saw her face change from mild irritation to shock. He licked his lips and swallowed painfully. "Sorry to come here like this," he said, hoarsely. "Would you...?" Brock bounced forwards then, recognising them, and the impact of the dog's paws on his leg made him lose his hold on Branwen. She fell forwards, and Cassie let go of Brock's collar just in time to catch both of them as they fell against her. Brock cravenly ran away, out of the kitchen, and disappeared.

"Sophie! Will you come here NOW, please?" Cassie shouted. She braced herself and took a better hold of Branwen, as Mal swayed sideways and leaned against the washing machine. She kicked the back door shut as Sophie clattered into the kitchen, stopped dead on the threshold, and then rushed forwards to help.

They left Mal leaning into the corner between the door and the washing machine and carried Branwen through to the living room between them. Mal thought of following, but only for a moment. Measuring the distance from the washing machine to the living room door, he knew he'd never make it. Cassie came back for him, and he leaned on her gratefully as they went through.

Branwen was lying on the sofa, and she was still unconscious. He stopped to look down at her, and that was when his legs gave way, and he sank to the floor. He leaned against the arm of the sofa, half kneeling, and waved Cassie away when she tried to help him up again.

"Is Branwen all right?" he asked, an edge of desperation in his voice.

"I don't know how you expect me to know," Cassie protested. "I'm Hay's expert on magical injuries now, am I?" She felt for a pulse on Branwen's wrist, and tucked a cushion under her head. "Okay - Sleeping Beauty's got a strong heart beat, and she's breathing well, and her colour's good - that's about all I can tell you," she said, after a moment. "I'd say you needed more help than she does right now."

He wasn't about to argue with her. "Could do with a drink," he murmured.

"Sophie, kettle," Cassie ordered.

Mal shook his head slightly. "Water, please? Pint?"

"I'll get it," Sophie said. She dashed out, and he heard the tap running. In a moment, she was back. He reached out for the pint glass automatically, and Sophie bent down and attempted to wrap his hands round the glass. He gasped sharply, and pressed himself back against the arm of the sofa as if he could disappear into it.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Sophie said.

"Please don't do that again," Mal said faintly.
Cassie squatted down beside him to look. Both his hands were swollen to twice their normal size. She pulled one sleeve back very carefully, but even the rasp of linen against his flesh was so painful that he sucked his breath in between clenched teeth. He looked down, seeing the damage properly for the first time since they'd taken the shackles off him. His wrists were covered in weeping sores, surrounded by swollen, reddened flesh.

"Oh. My. God," Cassie said quietly.

"Comfrey root," he said. "And honey. Poultice."

"Oh, come on - we can do better than that," Cassie said scornfully. "Sophie, get round to the chemists and see what they've got for burns. There must be some gel or something. Get lots of it."

Sophie disappeared.

"Now, water," Cassie said. She held the glass up to his lips. He emptied it in three swallows.

"More, please."

Cassie filled the glass again, and this time she came back with a packet of Nurofen. There were eight tablets left in the pack, and she fed them to him, one by one. "Strictly against medical guidelines," she murmured, as she did it, "but I have a feeling I can't kill you with less than twelve, and it's got to help a bit." She reached behind her to put the glass on the coffee table. "Now, are you hurt anywhere else?"

"A few bruises," he murmured, without moving.

"Apart from that beauty on your face, you mean?" she said. She pulled the loose neck of his tunic back and looked down inside. She gave a long, low whistle. "I'd hate to see a lot of bruises, if those are just a few," she said. "It looks as if someone gave you a good kicking."

"Fell downstairs," he said.

"We can do something about that," she said. "Wait here."

Mal sighed. He wasn't about to go anywhere. He shifted into a more comfortable position against the sofa, aware of Branwen breathing slowly and evenly just behind him. He closed his eyes and his thoughts began to drift.

"Here we are." He opened his eyes cautiously. Cassie was squatting beside him again, and she was holding a blue jar in one hand. When she opened it, a pungent, medicinal smell came out.

"Something for the bruises," she said. "I think the best thing to do is to get that tunic up round your neck - without touching the sleeves - and then I'll anoint you."

He grunted, and allowed her to manouvre the tunic so that his chest and back were bare. She dipped her fingers into the ointment and hesitated. "I'll try not to rub too hard," she said. He tensed up as she touched him, and stared fixedly at one corner of the mantlepiece. She had a light touch, and it hurt less than he was expecting. "What is that stuff?" he asked.

"Horse liniment. Friend of mine makes it. Best thing I've ever seen for clearing up bruises - and I think it is just bruises," she added, prodding his ribs carefully.

He snorted. "Horse liniment," he said, disbelievingly.

"Better than comfrey root," she countered.

When she'd finished, she pulled the tunic back down and went to wash her hands. By this time, Sophie had come back from the chemists - and Brock came to sniff at Mal curiously. The dog didn't like the smell of the ointment, and backed away. "You and me both," Mal murmured.

He looked up, bracing himself for what would happen next. Cassie had her first aid box in her hands, and Sophie was carrying two big tubes of - he didn't want to know what it was.

"You ready for this?" Cassie asked.

"No."

He watched as Cassie cut lint to fit around his wrists, and smeared it with a generous layer of ointment. She rolled back his sleeves, and he held out his arm to her. There was a brief second when the ointment felt cool and soothing - and then he bit back a scream. While Cassie held the lint down, Sophie wrapped a bandage around it as quickly as she could, and tied it off.

Mal lay back against the sofa limply. It had been worse, far worse, than he had expected it to be.

"One more time," Cassie said, encouragingly.

He lifted his other arm and held it out, and turned his head away. As the ointment touched the wounds, he jerked once, silently, and then held still. When they'd finished with the bandaging, he pulled his hand away, and curled up with his hands cradled against his chest, oblivious to everything except the terrible, searing pain.

He thought he felt Cassie's hand on his shoulder as she said she was sorry, but he had no energy to spare to answer her.

Cassie drew back slowly. She had a sudden, vivid memory of Branwen sobbing her heart out and saying "It's horrible there." If Mal's injuries were anything to go by, Branwen had been right - and what had happened to her to knock her out cold like that? She lay quite still on the sofa, a dead ringer for the Lady of Shalott floating down to Camelot. It wasn't an encouraging comparison - the Lady of Shalott had died.

Neither of them was in any condition to tell her what had happened.

She looked up and noticed the clock for the first time that morning. "Oh, my God, I've got to open the shop," she said. "Sophs, will you find some blankets, or duvets, or something and stay with them? If anything happens, I'll just be through here." She unlocked the shop door almost in a trance, finding random stuff to put out on the pavement. Plant holder, pair of kitchen chairs, iron wash-basin holder, turn the lights on, turn the Open sign around.... Then she sank down onto the chair behind the desk and tried to hold on to a shred of normality.

Mal and Branwen were in her living room.

No - an unconscious magician and a man who had been tortured were in her living room.

This sort of thing didn't happen in real life - not even in Hay. She needed a dose of normal routine just so she could get her head round the weirdness that was happening in her own house.

She'd been much happier when Mal was just a slightly odd bookseller - but then, most booksellers were slightly odd, in various ways, and none of them claimed to be on the run from some powerful ruler in a parallel universe. Even when he'd convinced her his story was true, by conjuring fire out of thin air right in front of her, it still hadn't seemed serious.

Now it was serious \- and she didn't have any idea what to do about it.

Branwen woke to a dim room and a crick in her neck. She opened her eyes just enough to see that curtains were drawn across the window, with bright daylight showing around the edges. She looked around without moving her head, and only relaxed when she recognised Cassie's living room.

They'd made it, then.

She sat up carefully. She felt exhausted, and confused. She was sure they couldn't have appeared right in the middle of Cassie's house, but she had no memory of getting there.

"Hi," Sophie said, over to her left. "How are you feeling?"

Branwen rubbed at her gummy eyes, and groaned. "I'll let you know when I'm sure," she said vaguely.

There was a heaped up duvet beside the sofa. When Branwen looked more closely, she realised it was moving slightly, and a foot was poking out from one end. "What.... is that Dad? What's he doing down there?" she asked.

Sophie looked apologetic. "We didn't want to move him. We hurt him so much just putting the bandages on that we couldn't. He looked awful."

Branwen shuffled up to the end of the sofa so that she could step round him without disturbing him. She wobbled as she stood up, looked down, and saw that she was still wearing the white brocade tunic. She put her hand up to her throat - the silver torc was still there, too. She made a face, and pulled it off. "Can I borrow some proper clothes?" she asked. "I want to get rid of this thing as soon as I can."

As soon as Cassie knew that Branwen was awake, she shut the shop again. A couple of hours of serving customers had brought her almost back to normal, and she needed to get to grips with what was going on in her living room again.

She mashed up some tuna in a dish and put it on the kitchen table with some salad and bread. They sat with the kitchen door open to the living room, so they could keep an eye on Mal, who was still asleep on the floor.

Branwen was back in jeans and a sweatshirt, with the cream leather boots, and she was looking much more comfortable, if pale and washed out.

"Just one question," Cassie said seriously. "Is anyone from this other world of yours going to come after you? Because I'd like to know what I'm getting into if they are."

Branwen shook her head. "I don't think so. It was such a rough ride through the Portal that I think they'll think we're dead. There were two _yspridwch_ trying to pull us back and it got like - kind of like going through the Time Vortex without a Tardis, with us shooting out this end." She pushed her plate towards Cassie. "Is there any more of this? I'm starving."

"Weren't they feeding you?" Cassie asked, reaching into the crock for more bread.

"Oh, yeah. It's just all that magic catching up on me. They were actually pretty good with me. I was in this big castle, and a couple of _yspridwch_ were teaching me all they knew, pretty much, until Dad arrived."

"Looks like he had a lot rougher time than you did, then," Cassie said.

"I only got to see him about twenty minutes before I got us out of there," Branwen said, "so I don't really know - but I know I had nightmares." She looked grim. "If anyone does come after us, I will kill them, seriously, because I don't ever want to go back."

It was dim, where Mal was. He was wrapped up in something warm, and though the floor was hard, it wasn't stone. Was he back at Dinefor? If so, he was among friends, and he could risk showing that he was awake.

There were other people in the room. He could hear a quiet conversation, though he couldn't make out any of the words. Then, oddly, there was music. He snapped to full wakefulness in surprise, as he recognised the Archers' theme tune.

He brought one hand up, carefully, to pull the duvet back from over his head. There was a scuffle of movement above him, and he looked up. Branwen was kneeling on the sofa, looking down at him anxiously. "Dad? Dad! Are you all right?"

He grunted and emerged partially from his cocoon. "I think so," he said, uncertainly. He made an attempt to sit up, and lay back again, defeated. "Think I'll just lie here for a while," he murmured drowsily.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Cassie said, from across the room. "We were starting to get worried about you." She was sitting under the standard lamp with a patchwork quilt swathed across her lap and her sewing basket on the table beside her. He watched hazily as she cut a thread and stabbed the needle into the pincushion. She gathered up the quilt and laid it to one side. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Painkillers? I got a stock of them in."

"Milky coffee?" he asked hopefully. "I've been dreaming of coffee."

"Coming right up."

He made another attempt to sit up, and this time Branwen and Sophie supported him and got him up onto the sofa. Branwen picked up the duvet and draped it over his knees. She curled up next to him, leaning on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and lay back against the cushions.

"We tried to get you back," she said quietly, "from Caergwrle, but I couldn't do it the same night. I had to wait. Me and your friend Simon saw you being taken away and we didn't know where."

He cuddled her closer. "Did you not realise," he asked, "that an _yspridwch_ who opens a Portal to another world normally has to spend the next week lying down in a darkened room - and you did it twice in one night, and all the rest?"

She brightened considerably. "No," she said, "I didn't realise that."

Cassie re-appeared, coffee mugs in hand. "Can you hold this?" she asked. "You had a bit of trouble earlier."

He cupped his hands round the mug with only a small wince and smiled. "Thanks for this."

"No problem. When did you last eat?"

He thought about it. "Two days ago, I think," he said.

"Oh, God, really?" Cassie was already on her way back to the kithen. "Give me a few minutes."

He sat back, sipping coffee, feeling pleasantly drowsy. He'd almost gone back to sleep when she returned.

She was holding a bowl. "What you need," she said, "is something easily digestible and full of goodness. Comfort food. I just happened to have a tin of rice pudding in the back of the cupboard."

He took the bowl, but fumbled the spoon and dropped it. Branwen dived for it before he could move, and she curled his fingers round the handle. It hurt, but not with the sickening agony of that morning. After a couple of attempts, he managed to hold the spoon steady and eat most of the rice pudding. He could hardly taste it, which was something of a relief. He didn't think he could have coped with anything that didn't taste bland.

Sophie took the bowl away for him, and he leaned back, exhausted again.

"We should go home," he said, after a while. "It's not fair to you to stay here."

Cassie smiled. "I'd like to see you try," she said. "It's my guess you can't even walk to the front door unaided."

He didn't argue with her. "We're in your debt," he said. "I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't been here."

"You'd have been in hospital, possibly, trying to explain what happened to you," Cassie said. "You should probably be there anyway. Those wrists - really, they're beyond first aid."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea," Mal said. "I'm the Vulcan in disguise, remember?"

"Can't let anyone see the green blood," Cassie agreed seriously.

"Or the two hearts," he continued, deadpan.

Sophie looked from one to the other in bafflement. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

Cassie giggled. Mal's lips twitched into a smile that turned into a wince as the laughter hurt his ribs.

After a moment, Cassie sobered. "Are you up to telling us what happened?" she asked.

He looked down at his hands, trying to think of something to say. The silence stretched until he realised that he couldn't tell them about it yet, but he had to say something. "It was," he said at last, almost to himself, "an experience I wish never to repeat."

"I'm sorry," Cassie said. "I won't ask again."

He spent the night on the sofa, and was woken in the morning by Cassie coming back from her morning walk with Brock - who tried jumping on the sofa as he came in, and was dopily surprised to find it already occupied.

"Sorry, sorry," Cassie said, hauling the dog back onto the floor. "I bet he's covered in mud as well."

Mal looked down at the muddy pawprint on the duvet. "Not a problem," he said. "Islay's done worse to me. Which reminds me - where is she?"

"Islay? Oh - when Branwen took everybody off, she took Islay too."

"Hang on - took everybody where exactly?" Mal sighed. "I think I need to have a little talk with Branwen."

She'd been sharing Sophie's room, sleeping on the camp bed, and Mal was surprised at the speed she got down the stairs.

"Oh, Dad, I'm sorry," she said, before she was properly through the door. "I didn't know what to do."

"Whoa - what? How about starting from the beginning?" Mal asked.

"I took everybody back to Valery - Islay's there, with Arian, and everybody. I didn't know what else to do with her, and I didn't think we'd be able to come back here, so Arian took your harp, too, and - Dad, what's wrong?"

Mal had winced, visibly. "You did the best you could, I suppose," he said, after a moment. "I suppose I couldn't expect to get everything back the way it was, but - no, it wouldn't be a good idea to go and get them. We'll just have to leave things as they are." He paused. "You have no idea of the geography there, do you?" he asked.

Branwen shrugged. "Only that map they made on the table, and I don't know how that joins up with anything else," she said.

"Andelys is just to the north," Mal said. "Valery is on the eastern border of Andelys, and when the Ard Ri's army turns north, they'll be in the middle of the war zone."

Branwen's eyes widened. "I never meant to do that," she said. "I thought they'd be safe. Simon will look after them, won't he?"

"As much as he can," Mal said. "I think they have a little while before the Ard Ri's finished with Segur. Thinking of safe," he continued, "is there anything you can do to stop anyone scrying for us? I'd hate to be dragged back again...."

"I thought they might believe we were dead, after that rough ride," Branwen said. She thought for a moment. "Yeah - there is something I could do. Remember that thing with the Tardis key, when they were hiding from the Master? I could do that - see, I learned a lot from Cathbad and his little friend. More than they thought they were teaching me. Frankly, I thought they were a bit rubbish."

"That's a little bit arrogant of you, isn't it?" Mal said, but he was smiling.

"Well - I bet they got the job because of who they were related to," Branwen said.

"No arguing with that," Mal agreed. "You'd better do the key thing," he added, "and later on, I think you'd better go round to the shop and see what Stuart's been doing with it while we've been away."

"I could get some of my own clothes on, as well," Branwen said. "I want to sleep in my own bed again, Dad." She paused, looking worried again. "What am I going to tell him?" she asked.

"Everyone seems to look at me and think I've been in a car crash," Mal said. "I think you'd better tell him that."

The flat seemed very empty without Islay - and without Arian. She hadn't been there very long, but she'd still managed to acquire enough belongings for Mal to fill a bin bag that he took down to the Red Cross shop.

On Saturday afternoon, he went down to the Crown, leaving Branwen minding the shop. He didn't have long to wait before Sara turned up to do her weekly crossword puzzle over a pint of Wood's.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "You look like you've been in a car crash."

He smiled. "Passenger," he said. "Good job I was wearing a seat belt."

She came and sat next to him, and spread the Telegraph out on the table.

"Actually, I've come to apologise," Mal said. "About Arian - I'm sorry about the way we messed you around."

"She was enthusiastic when she was there," Sara said. "That's more than you can say about some girls. Honestly, it's fine - I was only paying her when she turned up, and when she didn't, I would have been doing all that work on my own anyway - and those three French lads she brought with her knew what they were doing that time, too." She took a sip of her beer, and frowned over a clue. "What's a six letter word meaning 'Detains little man hanging round the place'?"

"Haven't a clue," Mal said. "You know I'm useless at these things."

Sara passed on to the next clue, and paused. "I suppose she's gone back to her mother, has she?" she asked. "Would you like some photos? I took a few when Arian was exercising the horses, and they've come out really well."

It wasn't much to make up for the loss of his daughter and his dog and his harp - but it was something to remind him that she had been there.

*****

How Things Changed

"Arian Malcolm, you are not wearing that leather jacket this morning of all mornings." Lady Gwen was brisk - and unmovable. "There is a perfectly good dress laid out in your room."

Arian had seen the dress, and ignored it in favour of the jeans and sweatshirt that she had arrived in. She didn't see what was so different about today.

"You will go and change now, please," Lady Gwen said, and it was not a request. "And quickly. You don't have much time."

Arian thought about arguing - but she was depending on Lady Gwen's hospitality. She slouched off to change.

When she came back down, holding the hem of the wide skirt almost up to her knees to get down the narrow stairs, what looked like everybody in the manor was assembled in the courtyard. Lady Gwen was wearing a blue velvet surcote that looked far too good for everyday wear, over a yellow dress, and a clean white veil over her wimple. She looked Arian up and down critically. "You'll do, my dear," she said at last, "and when this is done, all our villagers will know that you are under our protection. You'll be able to go about with the boys, then." She turned towards the gates as Master Annersley offered her his arm. Behind her, Ralph Tosny was marshalling the men at arms who weren't staying behind to man the castle walls, and attempting to keep some distance between them and the gaggle of giggling kitchen servants who were bringing up the rear. Down in the village, the church bell began to ring.

Arian trailed down the hill, trying not to trip up over the hem of her dress, and wondering what she was letting herself in for. She realised uneasily that everything she knew about the Palatine religion could be recited in one single long breath. They worshipped a Father God, instead of the Goddess, and indoors - in churches instead of Groves. That was more or less it. She had a vague idea that each church had a priest, and that prayers of some sort were said, but she had no idea what to expect.

The bell was still ringing when they got down the hill, and a few villagers were making their way into the church. Arian had always understood that Palatine peasants had to be forced to follow the new religion, but these people seemed quite cheerful about it.

At the church porch, Lady Gwen and Master Annersley dipped their fingers into a little stone bowl by the door, and touched the water from it to their foreheads. Ti-Malcolm and Davy did the same, and Arian peered into the bowl curiously. She'd already decided that she was there to observe, and not to take part, though, so she didn't touch it.

Inside, the building was dim, but with many candles at the far end. There was an odd, musty smell in the air, not unpleasant, and more villagers scattered around the open hall. Some of them seemed to have brought stools to sit on. Others were kneeling, or standing, and some were chatting together, but they all bobbed up and down or bowed as Lady Gwen and the boys made their way towards the candles. There was a table there, draped with green silk. Arian stopped abruptly as Lady Gwen and Master Annersley paused to kneel briefly before the green table. They moved to one side to sit on the chairs at the side, and Arian slid behind them to lean against the wall as everyone else who had just come in knelt for a moment and then moved back. Arian could see some of the villagers looking her way and whispering. She did her best to ignore them.

Above their heads, the bell had stopped ringing. A door opened to one side of the table, and two small boys came out, swinging metal containers on the end of thin chains. Smoke was coming out of holes in the containers and that smoke, she realised, was the source of the musty smell she'd noticed when she first came in. A man in green robes followed the boys, and behind him came half a dozen other boys in white robes, like the boys with the incense.

They clustered round the table, with their backs to everyone else, apart from once when the priest took one of the incense things and swung it at the crowd a couple of times. Arian could hear enough to understand that he was reciting something in Latin, but she didn't know enough of the language to work out what it was. Occasionally, the boys sang. Arian quite enjoyed those bits - it was a style of music that was new to her.

Eventually, the priest waved a round wafer and a goblet around, and most of the crowd moved forwards, keeping a respectful distance until Lady Gwen and the rest of the Valerys had knelt in front of the priest to receive small bits of bread - but none of the wine. The priest seemed to keep that for himself. When everyone had got their bit of bread, the priest turned to the crowd and said a few more things in Latin - and then it seemed to be all over, and everyone was leaving.

Arian looked round bemusedly. She'd thought there would be more to it than that, or at least that she'd have a better idea of what went on in a church once she'd actually seen it. All she was really sure of was the fact that the priest wouldn't share his wine.

She looked down to find Davy tugging at her skirt. "Do you want to see our great-great-grandfather?" he asked.

Arian looked down at him in confusion, and glanced over to Lady Gwen, who smiled and made shoo-ing motions to them as she went over to talk to the priest. Davy took Arian by the hand and pulled her towards the back of the church. She hadn't noticed it when she came in, but now the crowd had cleared she could see a stone slab set on the floor, with the statue of a knight in old fashioned armour lying on top of it. "That's the third Sir Simon," Ti-Malcolm said, matter-of-factly. "All our other ancestors are down there in the crypt."

"You mean, this is a tomb?" Arian whispered, wide-eyed. "You bury your dead in the same place as your -" For a moment, she couldn't think of the right word for their rituals, and just waved her hand helplessly towards the priest instead.

Ti-Malcolm was looking at her as if she was very ignorant. "Of course we do," he said.

Davy was kneeling beside the statue now, and rubbing gently at the hilt of the great sword carved by his ancestor's side. The pommel looked as if it had been rubbed often, by generations of children. It had been smoothed away to almost nothing. "This Sir Simon was a great hero," he said proudly. "He fell in battle against the Tiraeg at -"

"I don't think Arian wants to know that," Ti-Malcolm said, hurriedly. "Come on, let's show her something else." He looked round the church, considering. "How about saying a prayer for Uncle Malcolm?" he suggested. "Something to keep him safe?"

He led them over to something else Arian hadn't noticed when she came in - a statue of a woman holding a baby. She stared up at it. "I thought your God was a man," she said.

"Oh, yes," Ti-Malcolm said, "but this is God's mother." He noticed her confused expression and added, "the Blessed Virgin Mary. We can light a candle to her if you like."

Arian was still staring at the statue. _Mother and Virgin,_ she thought. The Goddess was still here after all, after a fashion. "Is that what you do to say a prayer?" she asked, "light a candle?"

Davy nodded seriously. There was an iron candle rack in front of the statue, with a few candles already burning there, but there was room for plenty more, and there were wax tapers underneath the rack.

Arian looked up at the statue, considering. She was almost tempted to do it, if only she could be sure that her prayers would go to the real Goddess and not just this strange Christian version of Her.

A movement behind her made her turn away. Lady Gwen, still chatting to the priest, was coming down the body of the church towards them.

"I don't think we've got time now," Arian said, with a mixture of regret and relief. "Maybe later."

Outside the church, archery butts had been set up on the open ground nearby. Most of the men and boys of the village seemed to be there, most of them holding longbows and carrying quivers of arrows.

"They do this every Sunday," Ti-Malcolm explained, "but of course it's more serious now."

They stopped to watch as one grey haired man stuck a sheaf of arrows in the ground at his feet, and methodically shot them all into the furthest target in an impressively short time.

"Collect!" another man shouted, and all the archers who had been shooting set off down the field to retrieve their arrows. Each target had a thick cluster of arrows close to the black circle painted in the centre. There were some very good archers in the village.

That was another preconception ruined. Arian had always taken it for granted that, once a victorious Tiraeg army arrived in the Palatinate, the unarmed and oppressed peasants would flock to join them - but here she could see well armed, well trained men who could have overthrown their Occitan overlords whenever they wanted to - if they wanted to. The two younger sons of one of those overlords were wandering around the village without even a servant in attendance, and were cheerfully calling the men by name. One of the men was showing Davy how he was mending the fletching on his arrow while Ti-Malcolm talked to another.

After a moment, Ti-Malcolm came back to where Arian was standing. "I'm sorry, I've been ignoring you," he said, "but I had to check with Robert about the border patrols for mother. They'll know just as soon as anyone sets foot on Valery land, and they can get the news to us at the castle almost as fast as magic."

"Papa's coming!" Davy ran up to them, pointing across the meadow to where Arian could now see five riders approaching. "There's his banner!"

The men of the village were already turning away from the archery butts to gather in front of the church. Women and girls were coming out of the cottages. Arian followed Ti-Malcolm up to the church porch, where Lady Gwen and the priest were standing.

"Now we'll see," Lady Gwen said, almost to herself. She took Davy firmly by the hand. "No running under Cifer's hooves," she warned. "Have a little patience."

Simon and his men trotted their horses along the village street and reined in beside the church. Simon stood in his stirrups to scan the crowd. "Good news!" he said, and after that he was talking too quickly and with too many unfamiliar words for Arian to follow the Occitan. There was cheering, though, from the villagers, and Lady Gwen looked vastly relieved.

"What is it? The good news?" Arian asked, as the cheering died down.

"There will be no war," Lady Gwen said. "The Tiraeg army came across the River, and the men of Segur turned them back. They're disbanding, Simon says."

"They're giving up? Just like that?" Arian thought of all the effort that had gone into the preparations for war, and the determination of the Ard Ri \- Mal had called it an obsession, and she thought he might have been right - and she wondered what could have gone so spectacularly wrong to stop all that.

Simon had dismounted, and was swinging Davy up in the air by way of greeting. Ti-Malcolm got an altogether more adult hug, and then Simon was beside Gwen, and kissing her. They walked together up the lane to the manor gates, with the men at arms walking their horses behind them.

Simon's expression of good cheer wavered a little as he looked at Arian, but everyone else was so cheerful that only she noticed. The gates opened, and they entered the courtyard - and suddenly, Simon was all business. "Off with you, now, boys," he said. "I have some private news for your mother and Arian."

Ti-Malcolm reached for Davy's hand. "Come on - let's go and watch them unsaddling Cifer," he said. They followed the men at arms to the stables.

"Let's get inside," Simon said, and Arian felt a cold chill run down her back. She didn't think she was going to like whatever it was he had to tell them.

Master Annersley came out of the hall - he had come back straight after church with most of the servants - but Simon shook his head slightly. "Later," he said, and the older man went back inside.

Simon took Gwen and Arian to his little document room, and shut the door. Gwen sat down on the only chair and placed her hands very precisely on her lap. "What news," she asked, "is important enough to be private even from Master Annersley?"

"I'll tell him later," Simon said. "I wanted to tell both of you first, because it concerns Arian rather closely." He sighed, and perched on the edge of the table, waving Arian towards the clerk's stool. "It was no more than a skirmish at Chateau Battaille," he said. "The protection spells came down, and the Tiraeg advanced in force - and then, there was some sort of confusion. The men of Segur were hopelessly outnumbered - but the Tiraeg army fell back, and when they were back on their own side of the border, they began to disband. Word is that the Ard Ri is dead."

Arian stared at him. "But - how could he be?"

"We're not sure," Simon admitted. "No-one outside Rath Mochnant is sure, and the Duke can only go by the rumours that have been circulating."

Arian's eyes opened even wider. "You mean, the Duke of Andelys has spies in Ytir?" she asked.

Simon almost smiled. "Of course he does. So do all the other Dukes. I'm sure the Ard Ri has spies in all the duchies, too. As to how the Ard Ri died, all we are sure of is that he did not die alone. The levies of eleven of the Great Families are even now bearing the bodies of the rulers of their Clans home for burial - which effectively means there is no Tiraeg army left, so all the other factions are dispersing too. It'll take them some time to choose new lords, and who knows whether the new lords will want war or not? As far as the Duke's agents can tell, no-one seems to be in command at the moment. There are reports that Brede is gathering the Boar Clan - she's the designated Heir, after all - but she'll have to call a Council of all the Great Families to be confirmed as Rigatona, and she can't do that until all the Great Families have a representative to send."

"But still, no war," Gwen said. "That's surely the most important thing." Then she looked up at Simon sharply. "Why does this concern Arian in particular?" she asked. "You could have told all this in open hall quite easily."

"I didn't want her to find out in public," Simon said, "because two names have been mentioned in connection with all these sudden deaths - the _yspridwch_ Branwen, usually with an expletive somewhere in there - and the traitor Malcolm Petroc."

_"_ It's all right. I'm used to hearing him called 'traitor'," she said.

"They're being blamed for this," Simon went on, "and we don't know what's happened to them. Rumour has them dead, or disappeared." He paused. "I'm very much afraid that dead is more likely. I'm very, very sorry," he added.

Arian was acutely aware of the silence in the room. She could even hear the rustle of Gwen's velvet surcote as she stood up and quietly came round the table to put her arm around Arian's shoulders.

Arian blinked slowly, and moved her head just enough for her to be able to look up at Gwen. "He was the only family I had left," she said quietly. "I should have lit that candle to your Goddess when I had the chance. It's too late now."

"My poor petite," Gwen said gently. "Come with me. I'll get Cook to make you warm milk and cinnamon."

So Arian went. She couldn't think of anything else to do.

When Branwen bounced into the shop, straight off the bus from college, Mal was unpacking a box of books on his desk.

"Hi, Dad." She threw her bag down on the floor and gave him a brief hug.

He smiled. "What do you want?"

"That obvious, is it? Going up to Clyro Court tonight with Sophie? Please?"

"And how much?" he asked.

Branwen was already opening the desk drawer where he kept the cash box. She waved a twenty pound note at him just long enough for him to be able to register the amount before stuffing it in her jeans pocket.

And then she looked at him sternly. "Dad - why don't you just ask for help?" she asked.

Mal attempted to look innocent. "What?"

"Come on - I can tell. You're still using industrial amounts of painkillers." She poked in the drawer and brought out a half-empty pack of Ibuprofen. "If you want heavy lifting done with the books, why don't you just wait for me?"

He sighed. "Because there was no point. It's all right most of the time," he added.

She frowned at him, unconvinced.

"Okay, if I do too much lifting, or typing, my wrists hurt - so I just have to be careful. It's not important enough to get worked up about."

"You could probably get away with that with anyone else," Branwen said. "But I didn't have to hug you to be able to tell just how much it's hurting. I can feel it from here." She took hold of the box, and lifted it up. "Where do you want this?" she asked.

"It's a bunch of those Stephen Baxter mammoth books," he said. "Over there by the SF shelves, please."

"And I'll shelve them for you," Branwen said, daring him to disagree, "and I'll cook dinner - and you will not use your hands for the rest of the evening, or they'll never get better, okay?"

Mal held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, I give in," he said, "as long as you allow me a beer - since you're going out enjoying yourself later."

Mal came out of the Crown just before last orders, feeling pleasantly mellow. Behind him, Stuart and Dave were going for one last pint. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable evening. He ambled towards home through deserted streets.

Coming along Broad Street towards the clock tower, Mal thought he saw a flicker of movement. He didn't take much notice. Kids sometimes congregated there, by the handbag shop and the public toilets.

There was a figure in the shadows. It was wearing a long cloak, and was too tall to be Suzy, who often wandered around Hay in a full length velvet opera cloak. Mal was naturally wary of cloaked figures lurking in the shadows, and when he looked closer, there were two of them.

Suddenly feeling entirely sober, he kept to the pavement beside Golesworthy's. The whole expanse of the road around the clock tower was between him and the figures now. Then Luned was standing there, full in the light of the streetlamp. Behind her, leaning on the stonework near the entrance to the Gents, was a man, also cloaked. He had a close-trimmed, neat beard, and the same dark hair and eyes as Luned. Kai Valmai, Luned's brother, watched Mal warily from the shadows and said nothing.

"Goddess, you survived after all," Luned said at last.

"Obviously," Mal said, not coming any closer. He spoke in Tiraeg. "What in the Mother's name are you doing here?"

"Cynddylan knew how to find it, so it was the easiest place to jump to," Luned said. "I never expected to find you still here."

"So pretend you never saw me," Mal said. "There's no welcome for you here."

She picked up a large bag, resignedly, and began to turn back towards her brother.

Kai was no longer standing by the wall. He had slid down while they were talking to sit on the pavement. He groaned softly.

Luned was on her knees beside him instantly. He huddled against the wall, cradling his arm against his chest. Reluctantly, Mal came closer and knelt down beside him. It was hard to tell under the streetlamps, but the sleeve of the arm Kai was cradling looked darker than the other. Mal reached out to touch, and his finger came away darkly stained.

Mal rocked back on his heels. "I can't leave you here to bleed to death," he said. "Come on - do you think you can get as far as my flat?"

Kai nodded, and Luned and Mal helped him to get to his feet. Mal supported him on his uninjured, left side, and Luned picked up the bag she'd been carrying again. They walked slowly up the hill. Kai seemed to be saving all his concentration for walking, but he made it to Mal's front door and they managed to get him up the stairs. At the top, Mal guided him to the sofa and he collapsed onto it.

For Mal, this was having the uncomfortable feeling of deja vu - reminding him of what he had been like when he last returned from Ytir. He shivered, and went into the kitchen to find his first aid kit and some clean towels.

When he came back, Luned had dumped her bag in a corner and was sitting beside Kai. She'd already unclasped his cloak and folded it back, and was starting to undo his tunic. Kai lay back on the cushions, his face white and his eyes closed.

Mal handed Luned his dagger. "Never mind that," he said. "The tunic's ruined anyway \- cut the sleeve away and we'll see what we can do to stop the bleeding."

She took the knife and hacked at the thick brown velvet, revealing a deep diagonal cut on the outside of Kai's forearm, about a handspan long. It was oozing blood.

Mal sponged the area around it clean, and then wrapped it tightly in clean tea towels, secured by bandages. He pulled everything as tight as he physically could, gritting his teeth against the shooting pains in his fingers, in an attempt to close the wound up and stop the bleeding. When he'd finished, he dropped two or three soluble painkillers into a glass of water and stirred them round as they fizzed. He resisted the temptation to drink the glassful himself.

"This'll help the pain - a bit, at least," he said, lifting the glass to Kai's lips.

The younger man sipped, gagged, and coughed. He leaned forwards, his eyes now wide open. "That is disgusting," he said weakly.

"Do you want the rest?" Mal asked.

Kai took the glass in his good hand and drank it back. He made a face. "Hope it does help," he said. He leaned back again and closed his eyes.

"That's the best I can do for him," Mal said. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"We were just ahead of them," Luned said. "The _yspridwch_ had just opened the Portal when they got to us - I don't know what happened to him. I jumped through, and Kai was holding them off. Cynddylan must have been alive, then at least, because the Portal closed after Kai and none of them followed us. If he is dead, there's nothing we can do about it," she added, dismissively.

"Kai held them off?" Mal asked. "How? With a legal writ?"

Luned unbuckled Kai's belt and slipped it out from underneath him. As she held it up Mal noticed the sword in its scabbard for the first time, and moved away from it. Ignoring his discomfort, Luned unsheathed the sword and began to clean it with another tea towel. There was fresh blood on the blade. "These are dangerous times," she said, with her head down over the sword, "and it's all your fault. Everything fell apart when the Ard Ri died."

Mal stared at her. "How is that my fault?" he asked blankly. "When did the Ard Ri die, anyway?"

Alanna looked up briefly. "Don't be stupid. Of course you know what happened."

"No," he said flatly. "No, I don't."

She glared at him. "All right then, I'll tell you. It was the morning that the girl Branwen was supposed to clear away the protection spells on Nantyglasdwr. You were there too. So were the heads of half the Great Families of Ytir. Everyone in that room died."

" _What_?!" Mal gaped at her. "How?"

"Our best guess was that she'd opened a Portal inside the room, and something went wrong. The energy blast blew the big window out and showered the courtyard with glass. The staffs belonging to the two other _yspridwch_ in the room had burnt almost to ash. There was no sign of you or the girl, but it was assumed that you'd both died in the backwash of power. And now I see I'm not a widow after all," she added, with obvious disappointment. "Where is the girl, anyway?"

"At a party," Mal said. "She won't be back for hours yet." He shook his head, dazedly. "Everyone died?" He thought of the red haired man who'd been standing in front of him, and the two young guards - and Morgannwg. "I always thought the old man was indestructible," he murmured. "I never thought - " He shook his head again, helplessly. "Well, I thought a few people might get knocked out, the ones closest to us, but not that everyone in the room - never that."

"Proving your stupidity yet again," Luned said disgustedly. "Have you any idea how much power was loose in that room, with the Portal, and the other two _yspridwch_ , and whatever the girl had been using on the map table? Of course everyone died."

"I suppose," he said slowly, "that the invasion never happened then?"

"There were too many funerals going on," Luned snarled. "Oh, it started - we got across the river and just far enough into Palatine territory to make it difficult to get back when it all went wrong. And when we did get back, there was chaos." She glared at him, blaming him.

Mal glared back at her.

_"_ Is Kai still awake?" he asked abruptly, into the awkward silence. "Since you're here, I suppose I ought to offer you both something to eat, or a drink at least." Even under these circumstances, he found that he couldn't ignore the laws of hospitality.

"Thank you," Kai said, without opening his eyes.

Luned looked away. "I don't want to break bread where I'm not welcome," she said.

"Fine," Mal said. "Coffee, then." He went to make it, and brought back three mugs. Doing something so ordinary had given him a little time to calm down, but he still felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

Kai roused himself enough to take the mug. "Tastes better than the other stuff," he commented.

Mal ignored him. "So what are you intending to do?" he asked, "since you won't be staying here? Do you have any local money? And what about clothes? You can't go about, even in Hay, looking like refugees from Lord of the Rings. I suppose you don't even speak the language."

Luned was looking more and more uncomfortable. "We were in something of a hurry," she said, defensively. "There wasn't time to think of any of that."

Mal sighed. "You won't last five minutes here - you know that, don't you? No money, no proper clothes, nowhere to stay, Kai injured. You'll be sleeping in shop doorways in no time."

"You managed it," Luned muttered.

"Yes. But." Mal said. "I came here in a hurry, with no preparation, but I did have Branwen with me. She picked up the language, and passed it on to me \- and I had my harp. Musicians can earn some money, straight away. We still had immense problems fitting in at the beginning - it's fortunate for both of us that Hay is a place that's tolerant of eccentrics. See how you manage in Hereford - I'll put you both on the bus tomorrow morning."

"I didn't ask you to help. You offered," Luned snapped. "I'll go now, if you like, but at least let Kai spend the night." She stood up and put her coffee mug down on the table. She'd hardly touched it.

Kai put his mug down next to hers with a loud bang. "Luned, come and sit down," he said firmly. "Malcolm's right. We're unprepared, and we don't speak the language, and we need help."

Reluctantly, Luned came and perched on the arm of the armchair. "I apologise," she said stiffly. "I'm in no position to argue with you."

Kai looked at Mal. "I know you have good reasons not to help," he said, "but all we can do is throw ourselves on your mercy. You're right. We have no idea how to live in this world."

Mal nodded slowly. "You can certainly stay the night," he said. "Tomorrow morning we can discuss what you want to do. You might want to go back. I don't know. I'll do what I can to help you." He got up and rummaged in the chest at the end of his bed. "Here, have some blankets and things," he said. Turning back to Kai, he added, "Bread, cheese, whatever, all in the kitchen. Help yourselves." He disappeared behind the screen round his bed, and attempted to ignore them.

At the bottom of the stairs, Branwen slipped her high heeled shoes off and tried not to giggle. She hadn't had _that_ much to drink - well, at least she could remember each one - well, at least some of them had had lemonade in them.... Holding her shoes in one hand, she leaned on the wall and stumbled up the stairs, trying not to make any noise - which made her want to giggle again. She stopped, and held her free hand over her mouth until the giggling fit passed.

By the time it did, she was aware that there were two strangers sleeping in the living room. She reached out with her mind, and found Mal - chiefly by the waves of annoyance he was giving off, even in sleep. The strange woman seemed equally annoyed, and the strange man was injured, and too tired to be broadcasting any other emotions at all. Branwen could tell that they were both Tiraeg - and that stopped any further desire to giggle. Holding onto the key that she still wore round her neck, she took a moment to make herself functionally invisible to them, and crept very quietly indeed up the rest of the stairs, through the living room, and into her bedroom. She closed the bedroom door carefully, and flopped down onto the bed without turning the light on.

She'd thought all of that stuff in Ytir was over - but someone had found them again, despite all her precautions, and it was bound to mean trouble.

Her brain was too fuzzy to find anything out now. She would have to wait until the morning.

They were up early \- people from Ytir were always up ridiculously early - and all Branwen wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep. Her mouth tasted icky, and she had a headache, and her eyes were gummed up. She lay in the dark and listened to the woman folding up blankets and complaining about how hard the floor was. She heard the injured man on the sofa call the woman Luned.

Branwen knew who Luned was. This was seriously bad news.

Mal was awake, too. She could hear him moving about in the kitchen. He was still giving off waves of irritation - and a little fear, under that. _Dad, what's going on?_ she asked, directly into his mind.

She felt his surprise at being contacted, and then there was a picture of Luned standing beside the clock tower, and then Mal gave up trying to answer her telepathically and came through to the bedroom. He shut the door behind him.

"I know who she is," Branwen whispered, "but who's he? And how did they find us?"

"He's Kai Valmai, Luned's brother," Mal said, in a low voice. "I think they didn't expect to find us here - they needed an escape route urgently, and Luned knew of this world. I hope that's what it was."

"So what are they doing here?" Branwen asked.

"There's chaos in Ytir," Mal said, reluctantly.

"Well, they were going to war - what did they expect?" Branwen asked, her voice rising.

"About that," Mal said - and she could tell he didn't want to tell her, "it seems there hasn't been a war after all."

"So - why the chaos?" Branwen asked suspiciously. "Come on, Dad, spit it out."

"Bear in mind we only have their word for any of this," Mal said, "but it seems that Morgannwg is dead."

"Huh. Hope he had a heart attack," Branwen grunted.

"Not - exactly," Mal said - and then she could see it, clear in his mind - the room with the map table, and the two _yspridwch_ trying to break through Branwen's magical shields, and then his imagination taking the scene onwards, to an explosion that shattered the huge window - and....

"No - that _can't_ be true!" Branwen was sitting bolt upright in bed now. "Not _all_ of them!"

"That's what they told me," Mal said.

"So - I killed them all?" Branwen whispered.

"It was my fault," Mal said. "If I'd been thinking straight I would never have suggested opening a Portal indoors. I thought - maybe it would knock a few people out, but there was the energy you'd put into the map table, and the energy for the Portal, and all the energy the other _yspridwch_ were using to stop us. It all built up."

She shook her head slowly. "Twenty people?"

"Or thereabouts," Mal agreed.

"Oh, God."

"It wasn't your fault," Mal said. "I put you up to it." He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and slipped one arm round her shoulders. She leaned into him, recognising the comfort he was trying to give, but not really feeling it. "Twenty people," she murmured. "I never wanted to do that. I never wanted to do any of it."

"If it helps at all," Mal said, "it stopped the invasion. Everyone at Valery is safe."

She pushed his arm away. It didn't help at all.

Neither did the milky coffee he brought her, though she drank it without thinking about it. By this time, Luned and Kai were aware that she was there, though neither of them had come near her yet. She dipped into Luned's mind, experimentally, and found the memory where she was standing in the middle of the room, with the big window partly boarded up to one side, and the map table in splinters against the wall. The rest of the room was empty - the bodies had been taken away - and then she found the other, linked memories, of carts laden with wooden boxes that could only be coffins, draped with coloured silk and branches of evergreen, and with escorts carrying banners as they left Rath Mochnant - and she hid her head under her pillow and tried to block it all out.

*****

Unwelcome Guests

Branwen huddled in her dressing gown at the kitchen table, picking at a packet of biscuits. She didn't feel hungry, but it was something to do.

"I phoned the college," Mal said. "I told them you had a stomach bug, and you wouldn't be in until Monday." He was speaking in English, casually, over his shoulder as he washed up. "Which gives us the weekend to work out what to do with our unwelcome visitors."

"Why don't you just throw them out?" Branwen asked.

"I'd like to, but I can't bring myself to do it," Mal said. "It's the laws of hospitality, you see. Part of the old religion. Besides, I don't want them wandering around loose when they don't know what they're doing, or how to speak the language, or anything."

"So you feel responsible," Branwen said.

"Something like that, yes."

She nibbled at a chocolate digestive. She'd spent most of the day lying in bed trying not to feel responsible.

"Do you feel up to a Council of War?" Mal asked, as he hung the tea towel up to dry. "I think we need to know what's going on back there."

"You think they'll tell the truth?" Branwen asked.

"They will if you're sitting there watching them," Mal said. "And I've got nothing against Kai. It's not his fault Luned's his sister."

Kai appeared in the doorway at the sound of his name. He was wearing one of Mal's shirts draped loosely round his injured arm, but he no longer looked quite so pale. "Are you talking about us?" he asked. He bowed slightly to Branwen. "I'm sorry to have brought such bad news, _yspridwch."_

"We need to talk," Mal said, switching to Tiraeg. He waved Kai towards a kitchen chair, and pulled one up to the table himself. Behind Kai, Luned came to lean against the doorframe and listen. "I want to know what's been going on back home because, if it's at all possible, I want to send you both back without getting you killed."

"The Heir was in the vanguard of the army," Kai said, "and she nearly didn't make it back across the River when it all - went wrong."

Branwen shuddered. That was probably all her fault, too. She wondered how many of Brede's troops had died in the retreat.

"When she got back, the main army was already dispersing," Kai continued. "The Great Families were going off to their barrow fields, to bury their dead, and none of them would take orders from her. Then General Brychan put forward his claim to be Ard Ri, as head of the Wolf Clan, and after that the Swan Lady brought her chariots up from the Eastern Plains - and the Custodians of the Relics at Breninlow are insisting on an assembly, to choose a new candidate from all the heads of the Great Families. Which takes time, of course, since so many Families are having to meet to choose new heads, and while that's going on the Boars and the Wolves and the Swans are tearing the country apart, trying to grab what they can to stake their claims. Oh, and the Ravens are just keeping everybody out of Tir Bran - Lord Liam is staying neutral on this one."

"What about Rhodri Ithel, of Dinefor?" Mal asked. "Who is he supporting?"

"Neutral, too," Kai said, "They're all waiting for a clear winner before they commit themselves. At least, that's the impression I got."

"And where were you in all this?" Mal was looking over Kai's shoulder now, at Luned.

"I was with the Heir," she said, "and no, I'm not neutral in this." She touched the silver torc round her neck, with the boar's head finials.

Branwen looked up then - even someone who was not _yspridwch_ would have been able to feel the tension in the room between Mal and Luned.

"Did you know where Brede was the evening before the Ard Ri died?" Mal asked quietly.

"Ah." Luned looked away nervously. "Yes."

"Why?" Branwen said. "Where was she?"

"Down in the dungeons with her _yspridwch_ Manannan and me," Mal said. "Think Klingon mind-sifter."

Branwen remembered how exhausted and ill Mal had looked when she had seen him in the map room. "Oh," she said.

"I could hardly stop her, could I?" Luned was sounding defensive.

"I don't suppose it bothered you too much, either," Mal said. "It was you who told them about Simon as well, wasn't it? Didn't it matter to you that his youngest son is seven, and they were threatening to kill the boys if Simon didn't come and get me? Or doesn't it matter because he's just one of the enemy? I burned Caergwrle to the ground because someone involved my friends in this - and that someone was you, wasn't it?"

While he was talking, getting more and more furious with her, Branwen was reading the surface of Luned's mind. She could see Luned with Brede and Manannan, and with Morgannwg - and there was another image, too, of Luned following Brede and Manannan down a dark, spiral staircase, and waiting for them in a room dimly lit by lanterns, while behind one of the cell doors, someone was screaming.

"You evil _bitch_!" Branwen spat. Her chair scraped back across the floor as she stood up. The next thing she was aware of was that she had frozen Luned in place, and was choking the life out of her with one clenched fist, across the length of the kitchen.

" _Branwen!_ That's enough! Let her down." Mal was shouting in her ear, but he was being very careful not to touch her.

Abruptly, Branwen let go her grip on Luned's throat, and sagged back into the chair. Luned sagged, too, and staggered back into the living room, wheezing. "Oh, God, I didn't mean to do that," Branwen said. She felt breathless herself. "It just - sort of happened. I'm sorry - God, I don't want to be Darth Vader."

"It's all right." Mal went to the door and looked through. "She'll be fine. You're not on the Dark Side yet, young Jedi."

"Pretty damn close," she muttered. She wanted to cry. "I don't _want_ this," she said. "It's too much responsibility. Why can't it all just go away?"

"Just hang on," Mal said, patting her arm. "We'll get things back to normal." He turned to Kai. "We know which side Luned's on," he said. "What about you?"

Kai smiled wryly. "Not greatly wedded to the Boar Clan," he said, "despite this." He touched his boar's head torc in passing. "I was living a blameless life on the borders of Mochnant and Bleddyn-ddu, settling disputes between people who'd moved one another's boundary stones, or used false weights, or 'borrowed' one another's cattle. When Luned came to me, it was to warn me to get out of the area fast, before Brychan's troops moved in."

"So why didn't your _yspridwch_ friend open a Portal straight back to the Heir?" Mal asked. "Why come here?"

"She was betraying the Heir, wasn't she?" Branwen asked, suddenly taking an interest again.

Kai nodded. "I'm afraid so, and dragged me along with her. And I think Cynddylan will be safe enough - a good _yspridwch_ is worth a lot more alive than dead."

"So if you do go back, who would you go to?" Mal asked.

"I think I could talk my way into the good graces of the Swan Lady," Kai said. "And then we'll just have to wait and see what the assembly at Breninlow decides."

"It's a mess, whichever way you look at it," Mal said.

They all looked alarmed when the door bell rang, but it was only Sophie. She stopped short when she saw the strangers in the flat. "Oh, I only wanted to see where Branwen was," she said.

Branwen poked her head round the door of the bedroom. "Give me a minute," she said. "I'll come out with you." She threw on a sweatshirt and jeans quickly, and came out. "Dad, going round to Soph's," she said.

"Wait a minute," Mal said. "I'll come with you." He turned to Kai. _"The girl has asked us to go and visit a neighbour_ ," he explained in Tiraeg. " _We'll be back later_."

"I thought you might have a hangover, after the party," Sophie said, as they walked along the street to Cassie's house. "Where did the visitors come from?"

"Where d'you think?" Branwen asked grimly. "I thought I was finished with all that - and then they turn up and ruin everything."

"So they're from - you know?" Sophie asked.

"And one's my ex-wife, and they've brought bad news," Mal said. "I think we all need some breathing space to decide what to do."

When Cassie opened the door to them, her first words were: "I'll open that bottle of red wine - looks like you need it."

She poured generous measures for herself and Mal. Branwen refused the offer - she'd hardly eaten anything all day, and the thought of red wine made her feel sick. Cassie made coffee for her and Sophie.

"So, what's going on?" she asked. She was leaning against the kitchen worktop with a glass in her hand, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"We have visitors from Ytir," Mal explained. "Unwanted and unwelcome - and they have brought some unsettling news."

"I thought that was all finished with," Cassie said.

"So did I," Branwen muttered.

"The thing is," Mal went on, "we don't exactly trust these two. What we need to do is check their story is true. The trouble is, everyone in Ytir thinks we're dead, and it would be better for us if we kept it that way. There's someone I could contact to get a neutral point of view \- and I trust him a lot more than I trust Kai. You remember I asked Kai about Rhodri Ithel?" he asked Branwen. "I met him on the way to Rath Mochnant. He's a friend, and I still have the Mirror that Arian left behind. So, do you think it's a good idea to contact Rhodri to confirm Kai's story, so we can think of a way to send both of them back?"

Branwen looked up in alarm. "You want me to open another Portal, after - after what happened last time?"

"That's just it. This is your decision as much as mine. What do you want to do?"

"It'd just be sending them back, and that'd be it?" she asked.

"That I don't know," Mal admitted. "If I talk to Rhodri, pretty soon everyone in Ytir who matters will know we're alive and where we are."

"Then you can't do it," Branwen said. "Dad, I don't ever want to use magic again. I don't even want to believe magic is real."

"So, what are we going to do about Luned and Kai?" he asked gently. "They can't stay in the flat forever."

"I don't know," Branwen wailed. "I suppose - I could just dump them in the middle of a field or something." She thought about it, then, sipping from the coffee mug Cassie had placed in her hands without really noticing it was there. "I suppose I could wipe out their memories of where they've been, too. That would work, wouldn't it?"

"So - this is more asylum seekers from Narnia, is it?" Cassie asked.

"That's about the size of it, yes," Mal agreed.

"And Branwen can get rid of them?"

"S'pose," Branwen said.

"Did you come here for my opinion, or did you just want to talk between yourselves away from your visitors?" Cassie asked.

"I'm sorry," Mal said. "We shouldn't have imposed...."

"Drink your wine and impose away," Cassie said. "And get rid of them. You'll feel better after, Branwen."

When they got back to the flat, Kai was lying on the sofa again, but Luned wasn't immediately visible. Then Mal noticed a movement behind the screen that hid his bed. He looked round it to find Luned sitting on the bed.

"What do you think you're doing there?" he asked.

Luned jumped guiltily. She waved a hand at the photos of Arian he kept on his bedside table. "I was looking at these," she said, her voice still husky from being half strangled. "Malcolm, you know where she is, don't you?"

It occurred to him to refuse to tell her. She looked desperate to know, though, and vulnerable, and he was about to send her back into a probably dangerous situation - and he found he couldn't be that cruel to her, after all. "She's safe," he said. "She's at Valery, with Simon, and she's safe. And now you'd better get your things together, because we're sending you back to Ytir."

"That's what we'd decided, as well," Kai said. "It was a bad idea to come here - we should be back at home. If you could send us somewhere near Dinefor \- neutral territory - we could work out the best thing to do from there."

"There's another thing," Branwen said. She still sounded as if she might cry, but she had it well under control. "I'm going to have to take away your memories of coming here. We want everyone in Ytir to believe that we're dead, so no-one else comes after us."

"I hardly think that's necessary," Luned said.

"Unfortunately," Mal said, "we don't exactly trust you - sorry, Kai, but that includes you, too. Those are the conditions."

"We should be back there," Kai said. "If that's what it takes, then we accept - _don't we_ , Luned?"

There was a long silence. "I suppose so," she said at last.

"We'll go now, then," Branwen said. "There's a place over the river. It's quiet, and we won't be disturbed."

"Sounds perfect," Kai said.

Kai struggled back into his ruined tunic, and buckled on his sword belt. Branwen led the way over the bridge and down the Offa's Dyke Path. The first part of the path was dark and narrow, so they went single file. Behind Mal, Luned swore as she stumbled on a tree root - and then he felt the Cold Iron at his throat, and Luned twisting his arm up behind his back so fast that there was nothing he could do to stop her. "Not a sound," she hissed. When they emerged from the shadows under the trees into the light of a half moon, where the path broadened into a little hollow, Kai drew his sword before Branwen could do more than stare.

He held the sword tip to Mal's chest while Luned tied his hands behind his back. "I will hurt him very badly if you try anything," he said to Branwen in a conversational tone.

"Ungrateful pair, aren't you?" Mal asked bitterly.

"I prefer 'pragmatic'," Kai said. "You really are incredibly trusting, you know."

Mal snorted. "I think the word you're looking for is 'stupid'," he said.

Kai smiled mirthlessly. "I was being polite."

"I don't know why you all get so worked up about Dad being a traitor when you're all just as bad," Branwen said. "I thought you had those laws of hospitality, or whatever."

"They don't apply. We're no longer in your house," Kai said.

"I suppose you want us all to go through the Portal," Branwen said. "Where was it you wanted to go?"

"A good part of what we told you was true," Kai said. He'd turned to face Branwen now, while Luned held onto Mal's arm with her dagger close in against his side. "But it wasn't Luned who was about to betray the Heir - it was me. And it's not the Swan Lady I'm interested in - Brychan's the one with the biggest army. But how to persuade him to allow us to join him? We needed a gift. We thought there was a possibility that you two had survived the massacre - no bodies, after all - and that you would probably be found close to where young Arian found you, when she came here."

"So - we're the gift?" Mal said. "Be careful about that - remember what happened last time."

"I don't think Brychan would make the same mistake as Morgannwg," Luned said. "And we're wasting time - open the Portal."

Branwen shrugged. "S'pose I've got no choice." She raised her hands above her head, and brought them down in an arc. The Portal opened smoothly, and Luned pushed Mal forwards and through.

As Mal's feet touched ground on the other side of the Portal, he knew exactly where they were. He threw himself to one side. Luned cursed, and yanked at his sweatshirt, swinging him round, and he pulled away from her. Around him, armed men were running into the courtyard. An alarm bell was ringing, and Branwen shouted "Simon - Simon Valery! It's us!" There was a sudden, searing pain across Mal's ribs, and he doubled over.

"Dad, hold still!" Branwen was just behind him, and suddenly his hands were free, and he staggered, hugging his ribs, and looking round at the courtyard of Valery Manor full of confusion and armed men.

Mal straightened up, and leaned against Branwen. "I feel really peculiar," he murmured. Someone holding a lantern came closer, and Mal squinted against the glare, unable to see who was there. Then the person with the lantern was supporting him on his other side, and they were all three heading towards the hall. He stumbled up the steps, holding onto the pain in his side. There was a bench, close to the door, and the room was full of people. He sat down, but the ground still seemed to be going up and down. Looking down, he was surprised to see blood all over his sweatshirt. Then Gwen was kneeling beside him with her sleeves rolled up, and a bowl of water. She pulled back the blood-soaked material, and that was the last he knew.

Arian looked up from the game of chess she was playing with Ralph Tosny. He was supposed to be teaching her Occitan, but they were making heavy weather of it. A bell began to ring somewhere overhead, and Ralph jumped up and ran down the hall. In a moment, the hall of Valery Manor changed from a quiet haven of after dinner drinks and conversation to a wasp's nest that had just been kicked. Simon ran down from the dais, following the men nearest the door out into the courtyard. Arian was ready to follow - but this was Andelys, not Ytir, and all the women were staying put. She listened to the confused shouting outside and wondered what was going on. Nobody was around to tell her, and she couldn't understand what they were shouting. Under the table, Islay was bravely barking at the noise, while very sensibly staying exactly where she was. Arian knelt down and grabbed the little dog's collar, just in case she decided to join in all the excitement.

The bell stopped ringing, and a servant slipped in from outside to speak to Lady Gwen, who hurried to the kitchen door with a couple of the other women.

While they were gone, the hall door opened again - and Arian nearly fell off the dais. Master Annersley came in, carrying a lantern. He and Branwen were supporting Mal between them. Mal sat down on a bench near the door, and Gwen hurried out of the kitchen and knelt beside him, followed by the two other women carrying a bowl of water and cloths. Arian leapt down from the dais and ran across the hall, as she saw Mal slump back against Branwen, and realised that the blood she could see was all his.

Branwen moved aside for her, and let her hold Mal up, but he was unconscious already and couldn't know. Branwen moved back and sat on another bench, out of Gwen's way. Pushed out of the way and unable to get to Mal, Islay sniffed hopefully at Branwen and jumped neatly onto the bench beside her to lick her face. Branwen put an arm around the dog and wearily allowed herself to be washed.

Arian found she was shaking. Everything had happened so fast it seemed unreal, but Mal's shoulders were warm and solid against her, so he had to be real, and alive. She had got used to the idea that he was dead, since the news came of the massacre at Rath Mochnant, and now here he was, unconscious and looking likely to bleed to death in her arms without even knowing she was there.

Gwen exchanged a blood soaked cloth for a clean one, and called for a needle and thread. "It looks worse than it is," she said, looking up briefly as the needle and thread arrived. One of her assistants was holding Mal's sweatshirt up, and she started to sew the edges of the wound together. Arian couldn't quite see how bad it was, and didn't really want to. "He's been lucky," Gwen continued. "Luned missed anything vital."

Arian blinked, realised her mouth was hanging open, and shut it again. As Gwen fastened off the thread, Arian ventured to ask: "Mother did this?"

Gwen nodded, taking another clean cloth to use as a bandage. When she'd finished, she got to her feet, and stepped back to allow two of the men at arms to pick Mal up. Arian yielded her place to Ralph Tosny reluctantly. Gwen drew her aside so they could carry him out. "They'll put him to bed - there's nothing you can do for him now."

"But - when he wakes up, I want to be there," she protested.

"So do I," said Branwen.

"It'll be a bit crowded round that bed, I can see," Gwen said, "and I can see Islay wants to be there as well," she added, with a small smile. "Let him rest. There'll be plenty of time to see him in the morning."

Arian scowled at Branwen. "Everyone said you were dead," she said.

"Everyone thought we were," Branwen said. "We were back in Hay all the time. I only found out what had happened here this morning. All this time, I thought I'd brought you and Islay into danger, because of the war, and instead -" She bit her lip and looked away.

"There was no war - and he's _my_ father," Arian said fiercely. "He should have told me."

"We were afraid to," Branwen said. "You didn't see what they did to him..."

"Bed, for both of you," Gwen said firmly. "There's been enough excitement for one night, and we can all find out what's been happening in the morning." She paused as Simon came back into the hall, followed by some of his men. He looked grim.

"The prisoners are taken care of," he said. "At least down in the cellars no-one has to listen to Luned cursing. Where's Mal?"

"Upstairs in bed," Gwen said. "I suppose you're another one who wants to sit by the bedside? I'll have to find him a bigger room, I think."

"I want," Simon said, patiently, "to know what's going on. I can't get any sense out of Luned or Kai - and what the four of you are doing together and appearing in my courtyard is more than I can guess. Branwen?"

"They came to Hay," she said, "running away from Brede. Dad took them in, and we were going to send them back - only, they threatened Dad, and they wanted me to take them to Brychan's camp. So I brought them here instead."

"So you escaped from Rath Mochnant after all," Simon said. "Well, obviously, you must have done."

Branwen nodded. "But I didn't know, until Luned and Kai told me, that - well, that all those people were dead."

"Lucky for us that they were," Simon said. "It stopped the Ard Ri's plans in their tracks. Far better from our point of view that they're all fighting each other."

"Does no-one ever listen to me?" Gwen asked tartly. "I said we should all get to bed when Simon came in. Arian, I'd appreciate it if you'd take Branwen up to the turret room where she slept before. Now, go!"

They went, feeling their way up the spiral stairs because Arian hadn't thought to bring a candle with them, and with Islay threatening to trip them up at every step, her tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

But Islay chose to go with Arian when she left Branwen in the turret room.

It was late morning - again - and Branwen felt as if she'd been run over by a steamroller. Too much magic - magic that she didn't want to feel responsible for any more - and too much emotional turmoil....

She sat up quickly. Her first priority had to be to find out how Mal was. There had been an awful lot of blood.... She pushed back the covers and swung out of bed, with a slight shiver as her warm feet hit the cold floor. Someone had laid out clothes on the chest by the wall, a long plain linen dress and a sort of pinafore dress in green to go over it. There were green woollen stockings, too, but no knickers, and she put her own trainers on. It made her look like someone doing a bad re-enactment, but they were comfortable, and she didn't care.

She was just doing up the laces when the bedroom door opened, and Lady Gwen came in, followed by a servant with a tray. "Ah, you're awake, child," she said, holding out her hands to Branwen. "I've been with your father. Arian was there earlier, but Mal needed to be quiet, so I sent her out with the boys. I thought you might prefer to have breakfast up here this morning."

The servant put the tray down on the bed and went out. Branwen picked up a slice of bread, thickly spread with butter and honey. "How is dad?" she asked cautiously. Gwen looked quite cheerful, so there was probably nothing to worry about.

"Hungry," Gwen said, smiling. "I've just taken him some soup."

Branwen polished off the bread and honey, and drank the warm milk - better, she thought, than the cider she'd been given before, while she was feeling so thick-headed. "So," she said, licking the last dribbles of honey off her fingers. "Can I see him now?"

Mal was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows. Islay was curled up by his side, her chin resting on one of the pillows, gazing up at him. He put his spoon down into the half full bowl when the door opened, and managed a grin.

"How are you feeling?" Branwen asked.

"All right as long as I don't move too much," Mal said. He waved a hand at the bandages round his middle. "Ten stitches," he added.

Branwen pulled a stool closer to the bed. There was a plate of currant buns on the table next to the bed, and she took one. She looked across at Gwen. "What's going to happen?" she asked. "To her, I mean?"

"Luned Valmai?" Suddenly Gwen wasn't smiling any more. "She and her brother have already gone. The Duke wants to question them, to find out what's happening in Ytir."

Mal stirred the soup around with the spoon, but he had stopped eating. Gwen looked annoyed. "She did try to disembowel you," she said.

"I know." He pushed the bowl away. "I seem to have lost my appitite, all the same," he said.

"What's the matter, Dad?" Branwen asked.

"You don't think Duke Philip is going to have a nice cozy chat with them, do you?" Mal said.

Branwen remembered where they were, and shuddered. "I didn't mean for anything bad to happen," she said in a small voice. "I just wanted you to be safe."

"For goodness' sake!" Gwen snapped. "They abused your hospitality, they tried to kidnap you both, and Luned tried to kill your father. Don't feel sorry for them. You did the right thing, to come here."

Mal sighed. "You're right, of course."

Branwen looked down at the floor. She honestly hadn't considered what would happen when they got to Valery. She had just thought that Simon would take care of everything, and Simon and Gwen seemed such reasonable, nice people that it was hard to imagine them chaining prisoners up, or throwing them in dungeons - or sending them off to be tortured.

There was nothing she could do about it now. "What's going to happen to us?" she asked.

Mal looked uncertain. "We should probably go home as soon as we can," he said. "The fewer people who know we're here, the better."

Branwen frowned. "But the Duke knows, doesn't he?" she asked, "and I bet he won't keep quiet about it. Dad, what's to stop someone else from following us through and bringing us back again? And they might kill you next time. There must be something else we can do."

Mal looked helpless. "I don't know," he said. "All I do know is I can't protect you any more - you're more than capable of doing that on your own."

"What we need," Branwen said slowly, thinking it through, "is someone neutral, someone that everyone will listen to. Everyone important here seems to want me to do what they want. No-one ever asks what I want. There must be someone who'll listen to me, and not force me to work for them."

Mal took a sip of milk from his mug, thoughtfully. "We can go to Rhodri Ithel," he said, "or - Gwen, is Morwenna of Ravenscar still alive?"

"I think we might possibly have heard if she'd died," Gwen said, with studied understatement.

"Who's Morwenna of Ravenscar?" Branwen asked blankly.

"Damn," Mal muttered, "I used to know all that genealogical stuff backwards and forwards." He looked up. "She's the - cousin, I think - of the old Ard Ri's wife, and the mother of the Lord of Tir Bran. She doesn't have a title as such, but she doesn't need one. Think of T'Pau, and you're pretty close to what she's like."

"All of Ytir tied up in one package?" Branwen paraphrased. "Sounds like exactly what we need. But - won't she be mad at me? I mean, if she was related - when I killed the Ard Ri?"

"That's 'we killed the Ard Ri'," Mal corrected firmly, "and I think she'll be looking at the bigger picture. At least, I hope so. I wish I knew more about what's going on in Ytir - she must be involved somehow. I know Liam Tir Bran's keeping neutral, but is she?"

Gwen lifted her hands in a peculiarly Gallic gesture of uncertainty. "If we can get any news at all out of Ytir, it's certain to be contradicted by the next news we get. All we can do at the moment is watch the borders and hope no-one decides to invade us instead of fighting each other."

"Gwen, do you think Simon would mind if I used his Mirror?" Mal asked. "Now we're here, we may as well get in touch with Rhodri Ithel to find out what's really going on. Kai told me some things, but I'd rather not trust his word alone."

"As twisty turny as a twisty turny thing," Branwen muttered.

"Exactly," Mal agreed.

"I'll get it for you," Gwen said.

Simon's Mirror was less ornate than the one Mal had taken from Arian. For the Tiraeg it seemed that, if a thing could be decorated, the more swirly lines the better. This was a far more utilitarian object.

Mal took the Mirror in both hands and leaned back on the pillows. He gazed deep into the polished surface, and thought back to his last visit to Dinefor.

He hadn't seen Rhodri's face then - it had been too dark in the cell - but he could remember the exact pitch of his voice, and hear the rustle of his silk tunic as he squatted down. _Come on, Rhodri - you must have a Mirror somewhere about you...._

Mal concentrated for as long as he could, then sighed and relaxed. He hadn't felt a glimmer of response. He tried again, finding it easier to bring Rhodri's image to mind a second time, back in those more carefree days when he was attempting to teach Rhodri to play the harp - the long brown plaits swept back over his shoulder, the beard trimmed to a blunt point.... _Rhodri Ithel, answer me...._

He felt something tingling at the edge of his awareness, and hung onto it. He passed his hand quickly over the surface of the Mirror. Rhodri Ithel looked out at him, blinking in surprise. "Malcolm Petroc - it _is_ you! We all thought you were dead."

"It was a close thing," Mal said. "I'm back now, though, and I need to know what's going on in Ytir."

"Where are you, then?"

"I'd rather not say, just for now," Mal said drily. "We've been in hiding, and we're not quite ready to break cover just yet. That's why I need to know what's happening - is it safe for us to make ourselves known?"

"There's a lot of bad feeling here," Rhodri said, "especially from the Families whose leading members died. I can't think of anyone who'd welcome you with open arms."

"And who do you favour as the next Ard Ri?" Mal asked.

"Goddess! None of them, to be honest - which is probably why the priests at Breninlow haven't accepted anyone yet. There's supposed to be an assembly, but Brede is holed up at Rath Mochnant and won't come out, and Brychan is trying to put his army back together - at this rate only the Swan Lady will be there, and she won't be accepted if there's not a proper, full vote."

"We were talking, before I contacted you, about Morwenna of Ravenscar," Mal said. "Is there any point involving her?"

"Actually," Rhodri grinned, "we've been talking about her just this morning - again. I've got most of my allies here at Dinefor, and getting them to agree on what to do is like herding cats. I think I'm talking them round to sending a deputation to her, though, and if we can get Tir Bran in with us, then we can get all the candidates to the Stone of Destiny together and bang their heads together until they agree on one ruler."

"That I'd like to see," Mal said. "Do you think Morwenna would be amenable to taking me and Branwen under her wing, so to speak?"

"I think it's very likely," Rhodri said. "And I think it would make her more sympathetic to our deputation, as well. Who knows - we might even sort this mess out, between us."

Mal put a hand to his forehead to massage a spot between his eyes. "You've been more help than you could know," he said. "I'm vastly in your debt. Thanks for all the advice, and I'll be in touch again when I can."

He passed his hand over the Mirror again, and the image of Rhodri faded. As soon as contact was broken, Mal dropped the Mirror and pressed both hands to his eyes. His head throbbed painfully.

"You, Malcolm Petroc, are a very stupid man," Gwen said, whisking the Mirror away from him. "I am going to get some feverfew for your headache, and then I forbid you to do anything else for the rest of the day - and Branwen, if you'd pull the shutters closed, please?"

Mal lay back and allowed Gwen to get a beakerful of feverfew tisane into him. The vile taste was not adequately taken away by finishing off the mug of milk. Lying still for the rest of the day seemed to be a very good idea.

It didn't last, of course. It could only have been an hour or so later that the door opened again and Simon came in. He came to sit by the bed, and wouldn't meet Mal's gaze. "I just got back from the Earl Marshal," he said at last.

"And?"

Simon sighed. "He wants me to send you and Branwen up to him. By force, if necessary."

"Branwen is not going to like that," Mal said. "I'm not sure I care for it much."

"I know - but what can I do?"

"You could start by talking to Branwen," Mal said. "I don't know if Gwen told you yet, but she wants to go to Morwenna of Ravenscar, and support the neutral Families of Ytir until they choose a new Ard Ri. All she really wants to do is go home to Hay - and she won't get that if Duke Philip and his brother get their hands on her."

"We've got a little time to decide how to deal with this," Simon said. "I told the Earl Marshal that you're too sick to be moved."

"I'm sorry, Simon, I really am - we're causing you a lot of trouble."

Simon shrugged. "What are friends for?"

"Duke Philip can get stuffed - and so can the Earl whatsit!" Branwen was in the orchards, sitting out on the daisy starred turf with Arian and Ti-Malcolm and Davy and a couple of spaniels. She glared up at Simon from her seat against a tree trunk.

"Branwen, he's sending soldiers, and his _sorcier_ , to make sure you go," Simon said.

"Then I'd better not be here when they come, then," she said. "I've got nothing to do with him - he can't just expect me to come because he says so."

"Yes, he can," Simon said, "and I'm his vassal. I'm supposed to make sure his wishes are carried out. I'm supposed to make sure you are here when his men come for you."

"And will you?"

Simon squatted down on his heels next to her. "Branwen, I have to follow the Duke's orders. I have to. However, Mal is my friend. On the whole, as long as it doesn't endanger Andelys, I'd rather help my friend."

"Good," she said.

"Mal tells me you want to go to Ravenscar," Simon said. "That might be a good way to prevent a war."

"I just want to go home," Branwen said. "I wish everyone would just leave me alone - but they won't, so I've got to do something. I've never met Duke Philip, so I don't see why I should do anything he says. I want you to be all right, because you've helped us, and we put you in danger before - and because Valery is the place Dad loves best in all the worlds." She paused, biting her lip. "Will anything bad happen to you if we're not here when the Duke's men arrive?"

"At the moment, I'd be hard to replace," Simon said. "No-one knows this particular stretch of border better than me or my men - there have been Valerys here for seven generations. It also occurs to me that I couldn't stop you from going even if I wanted to. You're a very powerful _sorcier._ So I don't think the Duke could blame me if you gave me the slip." He grinned, suddenly. "I wasn't always a respectable, responsible lord of the manor, you know. Just this once, I'd rather help you than do what my liege lord wants me to do. I think I may have the glimmerings of a plan in mind."

*****

Downriver

Arian was woken by Simon sneaking into her room well before dawn. "I'm just going to get your father," he whispered, as she sat up. "Will you go and wake Branwen when you're ready?"

She had gone to sleep in her undershirt, so all she had to do was pull her tunic over her head and put her britches and boots on and she was more or less ready to go. She picked up the harp and her pack, and crept up the corridor to Branwen's room.

All she could see when she entered was a shapeless huddle in the bed. Branwen was still soundly asleep. Arian shook Branwen's shoulder. "Time to get up," she hissed. Branwen attempted to pull the blankets over her head and, when that didn't work, reluctantly emerged from her cocoon. She rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window. A crescent moon was still visible in the lightening sky.

"It's the middle of the night," she protested.

"It's time to go," Arian insisted.

Groaning, Branwen got out of bed and into her borrowed clothes, a tunic and trousers that belonged to Ti-Simon. They had found her a pair of boots, too, and a cloak. Anything else she needed had already been packed the night before. She picked up her pack, yawned mightily, and followed Arian down the stairs.

Outside in the courtyard, it was light enough to see the waiting horses quite clearly. The night before, Simon had got the grooms to haul out the old horse litter that had belonged to his aunt Gracia, and the hastily cleaned result was now harnessed between two horses. Arian took Branwen round to the mounting block, and she opened the curtain to peer inside. Mal was already lying amongst the cushions. He shifted to one side to give Branwen room to get in. Arian left Branwen to struggle inelegantly into the litter while she strapped the harp and luggage to the saddle of the horse she was riding, and mounted up.

She could hear Mal murmur "All right?" from inside the awning.

"It's got to be better than riding again," Branwen whispered back.

Arian turned in the saddle just as Branwen lifted the curtain again. She gave Branwen a little, pitying smile. She supposed Branwen couldn't help it, but there had to be something wrong with a healthy person who preferred a horse litter to riding. Branwen grinned back at her, quite oblivious to the pity.

Simon moved his horse round so he could lead the litter. At a healthy distance from the horses' hooves, Islay was trotting round in circles, her tail wagging.

They set off with a lurch that turned into a steady swaying motion - the horses had never been trained to this, so it wasn't the smooth ride it might have been.

They travelled south, first along the road through the valley of Valery, following the little river that circled the hill where Valery Manor stood. Then they met a bigger road that led away from the river. There were few other travellers, and those they did meet seemed incurious. Simon was plainly dressed, and they carried no banners - and even a Tiraeg girl didn't attract much unwelcome attention here.

The road wound through fields of ripening corn, and orchards, and small areas of well-kept woodland. There were farms near the road, and the occasional mill, and birds sang over the sound of the horses' hooves. Branwen sat with the curtain half pulled back, enjoying the view. Mal slept most of the way, or lay very quietly - Branwen suspected that Gwen had dosed him up to the eyeballs with some sort of painkillers before they left.

In the early afternoon, the road brought them to a little town on the banks of an enormously wide river. The Wye would have been lost in it. Branwen could see wooden wharves along the edge of the river, and sailing boats tied up there. They rode right down onto the docks, and Arian stayed with the litter while Simon dismounted and went to find a boat that was going down river.

He returned quite quickly. "We're in luck," he said. "Just over there is the Garnet. The master is a Billy Garnet and she's nearly ready to go now." He pushed a small pouch into Mal's hand. "You'll probably need this," he said. "Travelling expenses. I've paid for the passage."

Mal clasped his hand. "Wish I could think of a way to repay you," he said.

Simon shrugged. "Stopping an un-necessary war would be a good thing," he said. "If you could manage that, we'll call it quits."

Mal swung his legs over the side of the litter and lowered himself carefully down to the ground. He stood for a moment holding onto the litter. Islay bounced up at him, but not very high. She seemed, for once in her life, to have walked far enough in one go.

Branwen slid down out of the litter too, a little stiffly, and Arian dismounted, and untied the harp from the saddle. Mal swung a cloak round his shoulders and let it fall open, and picked up a thumb stick that had been stowed at the bottom of the litter. He leaned on it as if he needed the support.

None of them had much luggage. Simon unslung a bulky pack from his saddle and handed it to Branwen. "Gwen insisted on packing enough food to feed a small army," he said. "I honestly think she spends so much time thinking about feeding other people that she forgets to eat herself."

"There's just one more thing," Branwen said. She cradled the pack awkwardly in her arms. "Can we find somewhere a bit quieter? I've got to - well, you know...."

They found a low wall where they could sit down facing each other. "I'm not going to be able to do this very well," Branwen said, apologetically, "but I hope it'll be good enough to fool any other _yspridwch_ who, well...."

"It's all right," Simon said. "I know I'm going to get questioned when I get back. Just do the best job you can to make it look as if I helped you under compulsion, and then the Earl Marshal won't be able to blame me when he finds out you've got away."

"And by then we'll be way down the river, and out of Andelys' jurisdiction," Mal added.

"Okay." Branwen put her hand up to Simon's face. "Just relax, and I'll try to make this work...."

He was a lot more relaxed than she was, but once she got down to it, she found it surprisingly easy to manufacture a few false memories out of Simon's recent past, and to make it look as if she had forced him to help them. She hoped it would be good enough to keep him out of trouble.

She took her hand away from his face. Without a backward look, he got up, walked across to his horse, took the reins of the lead horse of the litter and Arian's palfrey, and rode away.

Branwen gave a long, low sigh. "I think that'll work," she said.

"If you've done your best," Mal said, "there's no point in worrying about it now. Let's go and find the Garnet, shall we?"

Islay hopped on board the wherry as if she'd been a water dog all her life, sniffed up and down the deck, curled up in the sun at the bows, and went to sleep.

Captain Billy Garnet was supervising the loading of his cargo, a cartload of big, round cheeses, and waved them aboard without speaking to them. They joined Islay at the bows, which seemed to be out of the way of the men who were trotting up and down the short ladder into the hold. It looked pretty full down there when Branwen looked through the hatch. A man was stacking the cheeses and packing them in sacking and straw as they came down. The smell was very strong, even on deck.

At length, the last man came up from the hold, the hatch cover was pulled into position, and the cart rumbled away down the dock. The Captain, accompanied by a stocky lad of about thirteen, jumped on board, and took the tiller. The boy cast off the ropes, and the Garnet rocked as she slid away from the dockside and out into midstream. Once under way, they hauled the great brown sail up the mast. With a few flaps, it shook itself out in the wind, and the boom came round to one side as the sail caught the wind. The boy disappeared into a tiny cabin aft, and the Captain nodded once, pleasantly, to his passengers and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the day.

They pulled in that evening at a small dock. There was a small village and, close to the river, a large inn.

The Captain made his way to the bows as soon as the sail was furled. "Good eatin' at the inn," he said, "and they should have some rooms free." Without waiting for a reply, he hopped over the side, and headed for the inn himself, the boy trailing along behind him.

Mal and the girls followed more slowly. "May as well spend some of Simon's money," Mal said. Arian made as if to take her harp with her, but he shook his head. "Best not," he said.

Arian stowed the harp out of sight in the dark space right at the bow of the boat.

"We don't want a Prancing Pony incident," Branwen said, smiling. Arian scowled at them both. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she said.

"What?" asked Mal.

"Talk in code like that. You might understand Branwen, but I don't, and it's not fair."

Mal had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry, really. I hadn't realised we were doing it." He glanced sharply across at Branwen. He wasn't at all sure that _she_ hadn't been doing it on purpose. "I really must tell you the Lord of the Rings," he added. "We'll have time on this trip. It's one of the great myths back in the other world."

"It's called the Silver Lamprey," Arian said, slightly sulkily, "not the Prancing Pony."

"I haven't had lampreys for years," Mal said, cheerfully.

"You mean you eat them?" Branwen asked, peering up at the picture on the sign. "They look disgusting."

Inside, the bar was nearly full. A group of wherry men in their stocking caps were playing quoits across the width of the room, and around them were men wearing practical, hard wearing clothes, drinking from leather tankards. They found a table in a corner, and Mal ordered beer and fish stew.

Islay had perked up considerably at the smell of food, and went to sit by another table. She was looking up hopefully at two men who had nearly finished their dinner. Mal started to get up to haul her away, just as one of the men gave her a bit of fish skin and scratched her behind the ears. She wasn't the only dog in the bar, either - there was a scruffy black mongrel begging by the quoit players, too. Smiling, Mal sank back on his stool and left her to it.

"This looks like something straight out of an old pirate movie," Branwen said quietly, as the fish stew arrived. "All those baggy shirts and wide britches." She watched the woman who had brought the food go back into the kitchen. "But she's the only woman here."

"We're on the Palatine side of the river," Mal said, as if that explained everything. When she still looked blank, he added, "there'll be a window round the back where the women go with jugs. They drink at home. We three are obviously Tiraeg, so they're turning a blind eye to you, as long as you sit quiet and don't bother anybody."

Branwen chose that moment to splutter over her bowl of stew. "Euww, that's totally gross!" she said, in English. She lifted her spoon up to the light of the nearest lantern as if she didn't quite believe what she was seeing. There was a fish head in it.

Arian was unimpressed. "So give it to Islay," she said.

Hearing her name, Islay trotted over from where an old man had been stroking her tummy. She sat expectantly as Branwen lowered the spoon and dropped the fish head on the floor. It disappeared instantly, and Islay licked her lips. Branwen pushed the spoon around the stew suspiciously, looking for any more little surprises that might be lurking.

"Nice dog. Good hunter?" The speaker appeared to be the owner of the scruffy mongrel.

"Not bad," Mal said. "But she's part sheepdog - where she comes from they use dogs to round up the sheep. Very bright, lots of stamina."

"And they don't kill the sheep? Amazing." The man wandered back to the bar, and it was only because Mal was watching him go that he noticed the door open. A man came in. He was wearing a tunic of far better quality than anyone else in the room, and he was followed by half a dozen men at arms.

"Branwen, can you make us disappear, now?" Mal asked urgently. As he spoke, he hooked a finger in Islay's collar and guided her under the table.

Branwen looked over Mal's shoulder at the man, and closed her eyes briefly. "SEP," she murmured. "Somebody Else's Problem. Good enough?"

Mal nodded.

"What have you done?" Arian whispered.

"They'll still see us, but they'll look right past us," Branwen murmured. "Please don't bother me. I'm concentrating."

The man was speaking to the landlord of the inn, and Mal didn't need to be able to lip read to understand that he was saying; "They were here a few minutes ago." The lordling took a tankard from the landlord, and leaned against the bar to drink it. He gave no sign of being about to pay for it. Two of his men disappeared up the stairs at the other end of the bar, obviously to search the rooms above. Two more went through to the kitchen. The quoits game had stopped, and so had every conversation in the bar. The remaining two men at arms prowled round the room, brushing past Mal as he hunched over his empty tankard, and came back to the man at the bar, shaking their heads. The two who had gone upstairs came down, and the ones who had gone into the kitchen came out.

Then they went out.

Arian started to stand up.

"Not yet," Mal hissed.

She sank down again. Gradually the noise in the bar rose again from the subdued level it had sunk to while the men at arms had been there.

Mal put down his tankard. "Now we can go," he said. No one even glanced their way as they headed for the door.

Outside, the inn yard seemed empty. Islay trotted out into the middle of it, and stopped to pee against the midden.

With a sigh of relief, Branwen let the illusion go.

"Is anyone else out here?" Mal asked quietly, not moving from the shelter of the porch.

Branwen leaned against an upright timber and put her hands to her head. "One of them, by the gate," she said. "Another one in the stables."

"Want to try being Obi-wan Kenobi?" Mal asked.

She flashed him a slightly strained smile. They crossed the yard together, and were not surprised when a man stepped out of the shadows and blocked their path with a spear. "State your names and your business," he said.

Branwen edged her way to one side of the spear point. "There's nobody here," she said softly. "You must be mistaken. _These are not the droids you're looking for._ "

For a moment, the man didn't move, then he seemed to be looking straight through them. He raised his spear and turned aside. They hurried through the gate.

Behind them, they could hear voices. "Who was that?"

"Must be jumping at shadows - nobody there."

They hurried down the dock and onto the Garnet. "Would you do us a protection spell?" Mal asked, as soon as they got aboard. "Just remember that Billy Garnet and his boy have to come aboard as well as us."

Branwen stood by the mast and raised her hands as if she was gathering the whole boat to her. "There," she said. "No-one can come aboard unless they belong here, and anyone who looks over the side won't see us on deck." She sat down heavily on the hatch. "God, I'm knackered."

"Good job it's a fine night," Mal said. "Otherwise we'd be down there with the cheeses."

Next morning the wherry left the dock at first light. Captain Garnet stepped over Mal and Arian to get to the ropes at the bows. He didn't say anything to them, but he gave them a funny look.

As soon as they were in midstream, with the sail set, he handed the tiller to the boy and came forward again. "Looks set on to rain," he observed, looking up at a sky that was cloudy, but not particularly threatening to rain. He pulled a sheet of canvas from a small locker, and set it up between the gunwale and the raised hatch to make a covered tunnel. "Reckon you should seek shelter," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

There was just enough room for them to sit side by side. Islay insisted on trying to sit on Mal's knee, which made it a bit squashed.

"Who do you reckon that man was last night?" Arian asked.

"No idea," Mal said, "though it's certain he was after us. I don't think we'll be going ashore much for the rest of the trip."

Branwen looked worried. "What about -" she began. She blushed. "How will we go to the toilet?" she hissed.

Mal waved his hand at the expanse of grey water all around them.

"You mean - over the side?" Branwen asked, horrified. "Does everyone do that?"

"Everybody pees in it, and throws their washing up water in it, and anything else that they want to get washed out to sea," Mal said. "And they also drink it, if there's no beer."

"Oh, yuck, this world's disgusting," Branwen groaned. "I'd feel sick, except - oh, yuck!"

"Yeah, that too," Mal said, confirming her worst fears. He settled back against the hatch. "Now seems as good a time as any to tell you that story, Arian," he said, "if Branwen's finished bewailing the lack of modern sanitation. Listen, then - it was Bilbo Baggins's eleventy first birthday...."

By the time they got to Rivendell, it had started to rain, and they were glad of the canvas covering them from the weather, as well as from prying eyes.

Branwen opened the bag from Gwen, and they had pasties and cider for lunch. "Not water, thank you," Branwen said with a shudder. "I don't think I'll be drinking water again all the time we're here." She peered out from under the canvas. Billy Garnet's boy was squatting on the hatch with a sack round his shoulders. He looked as if he'd been there for some time. She smiled at him. "Want a pasty?" she asked, in Occitan. "We've got plenty. And for -" She waved her hand towards Billy Garnet, suddenly aware that she had no idea what to call him. She didn't know if the boy was his son, or just working for him, or some other arrangement she didn't understand. The boy solved the problem for her instantly by shouting; "Dad! Want a pasty?" She passed two up to him, and he went aft to eat it.

Mal was looking remarkably cheerful. "The lad was listening, was he?" he said. "I was beginning to think I'd forgotten how to charm an audience."

"You looking for compliments, Dad?" Arian asked archly. "Well, you weren't bad, I suppose."

"Dad," Branwen said slowly, picking at the crumbs that had fallen into her lap. "I just spoke to that boy in Occitan, but you were telling the story in Tiraeg...."

"That's quite normal," Mal said. "All the river men end up at Aber at some point, so they mostly speak both languages. Being a river man is more important than which side of the river you started from. That's why they weren't too worried about us Tiraeg being in an Occitan pub - until our friend with the men at arms turned up. Further inland it would have been a problem, but not here."

"Okay," Branwen said. "There's something else I've been meaning to ask you," she went on, slowly. "You know you were saying last night about how the women don't drink with the men in the Palatinate?"

"That is, I'm afraid, the way of things on that side of the river," Mal said.

"When I was at Rath Mochnant, they told me some stuff about how I should be on their side against the Palatinate, because the peasants there couldn't get married, or travel, or stuff like that?" She looked up from her lap hesitantly. "Is all that true?"

"Ah, the feudal system in all its unjust glory," Mal said, smiling. "That's a bit of an extreme take on it - of course peasants can get married and travel, but they have to ask permission first. Sometimes the lord will grant it, sometimes he won't. Depends on the lord. And how short handed he'd be come harvest time - stuff like that."

"And what about the women?" Branwen asked. "They made it sound almost as bad as the Taliban."

"Can you really see Gwen in a burka?" Mal grinned. "Listen, when Simon's away from home, she's in charge."

"I was surprised when she took over, too," Arian said. "I thought it was all men, and women couldn't do anything - but it's not like that after all."

Branwen was still frowning. "But she couldn't own property?"

"Tell that to the tenants of her dower manor," Mal said. "Look, it's always more complicated in real life than in theory. Yes, life's unfair if you're a peasant or a woman, but women can run businesses and be in charge of castles, and peasants have been known to make fortunes - and besides, is all that really a reason for going to war?"

In the afternoon, Mal continued with the story as far as the Fellowship splitting up. Young Billy Garnet was now openly listening in, and Mal only stopped because he had to go and do something nautical with ropes. The Garnet was coming in to port at a long row of wharves, and there seemed to be quite a sizable town beyond the docks.

Having made fast, Billy Garnet paused before he went ashore. "Fine night to sleep out on deck," he observed. "Means I won't have to guard the cargo myself." He gave them a twinkly smile, and headed off in the direction of the taverns.

Islay hopped off the boat and went a little way after him. She turned back to Mal, looking hopeful and slightly desperate. "I think I'd better take Islay for a little walk," he said, picking up his stick. "She's the only one among us that can't pee over the side of the boat. Don't go anywhere, and don't talk to any strange men." He pulled his hood up, and followed Islay slowly along the dock. He soon lost sight of the boat, weaving in and out of carts and piles of sacks and barrels, which were piled haphazardly all over the foreshore. It was starting to get dark, and only a few people were about. Three or four men were finishing the loading of a cart backed up close to the gangplank of a two masted ship. Across the way, there was a crowd of young men with tankards in their hands around the open door of a tavern - and there was a squad of half a dozen men at arms with an officer making their way slowly down the quayside in Mal's direction. With them was an _sorcier_ carrying a staff.

Mal looked round quickly for Islay, and saw her investigating a narrow lane that led away from the waterfront. He turned and followed her. Sneaking a glance behind him, he saw the soldiers walk steadily along the quayside, pausing beside each boat long enough to check whether there was anyone on board. They were ignoring him.

He slipped down the alley, and paused just round the corner to look up and down the quayside. The soldiers were standing at the bottom of the gangplank leading onto the deck of the Maid of Moissac. One of the ship's officers stood at the top. He seemed to be arguing with the officer of the men at arms, while the men who had been loading the cart milled around behind the soldiers. Two of the men at arms climbed onto the cart and started prodding at sacks with the butts of their pole arms. The rest headed up the gangplank as the ship's officer shrugged and moved aside. Mal slipped out of the cover of the alleyway and back down the dock, murmuring to Islay to stay close. He'd come past a stack of wine barrels, guarded by a couple of burly longshoremen, and more casks that smelled strongly of fish, which no-one seemed to be guarding. He paused beside them, looking down the row of boats to where he had left the Garnet.

There was a gap in the row where the wherry had been.

The Garnet had disappeared.

*****

Getting to Morwenna

Mal leaned against the stone wall of the warehouse and stared down the dock again. It was almost full dark now, and the only light came from the tavern windows and a couple of lanterns hanging from the stern of the Maid of Moissac behind him. Ahead of him, there was another tavern, with another group of sailors hanging around the open door in the yellow glow of the lantern light.

He counted down the row of boats again: a wherry, the Swift; a long rowing boat called Esnecca; a gap and then another wherry, the Minnow. Where the Garnet had been there was a small patch of open water.

Mal sat down on the nearest barrel of fish and leaned back against the wall. Billy Garnet was going to be furious when he got back. His hand moved to the small money pouch at his belt, but he didn't need to open it to know that there wasn't enough there to buy him another passage down the river, and certainly not enough to compensate Billy Garnet for the loss of his boat. He doubted very much whether either of the girls could handle a boat. He knew Branwen had never so much as sat in a rowing boat before. At least they were on their way downriver, though, while he was stuck in Bredelais with soldiers and a _sorcier_ searching for him.

The group of men round the door of the tavern moved back suddenly. Peering over their shoulders, Mal could see more soldiers coming out. They went straight across to the first of the wherries, and two of them went aboard. One of the men at the tavern looked as if he might be going to protest, until a man at arms loosened his sword in its scabbard.

Quietly, Mal slid back behind the fish casks, and whistled Islay to him. She looked disappointed to be called away from so many fascinating smells, but she came, and Mal clipped her lead on quickly. From where he was standing, he could just see the men at arms moving on to the next wherry. After a quick search, they moved off down the quayside. Shortly after that, the group who were searching the Maid of Moissac marched back down the gangplank. The two groups met; the officers and the _sorcier_ conferred together for a moment, and then they marched away along the dock.

Mal watched them go with some relief. As soon as they were out of view, he turned his attention back to the place where the Garnet had been. Somehow the water between the Esnecca and the Minnow seemed unnaturally flat if he looked at it for any length of time. Maybe he wouldn't have to walk to Aberllong after all.

He walked slowly along the quayside at an angle, as if he was heading for the boat next to the Minnow. As he drew level with the gap in the line of boats, he paused, bent down, and unclipped Islay's lead. A quick glance at the tavern showed him that most of the crowd loitering outside had gone in. No-one seemed to be taking any notice of him. "You go find them," he murmured to the dog.

She grinned, shook herself, and trotted straight up to the gap in the boats. As she reached the point where the stern of the Garnet should be, she gave a little hop, and disappeared.

Smiling with relief, Mal followed her, sure now that the Garnet was exactly where he had left it. Groping about with his foot, he found something solid to rest it on, and hopped off the quayside.

It was like going through a grey veil. The light of the tavern dimmed behind him, and he stood on the deck of the boat. Arian lowered her hands, quenching the fireball between them.

"Good job you sent Islay in first," Branwen said, "or we might have thumped you as you came on board."

"Good job I had Islay with me," Mal said, "or I'd have thought you'd cast off and were even now floating downstream, leaving me and an irate boat owner behind you." He sank down on the deck beside them. "They don't give up, do they?" he asked, jerking his head behind him.

"Bastards!" Branwen burst out suddenly. "I _hate_ this! It's like being a criminal." She thumped down on the deck beside him, and wrapped her arms round her knees.

"We saw them coming along the quayside just after you'd gone, Dad," Arian said. "We were worried you'd run into them."

"No," Mal said. "My worst moment was when I turned back to find the boat gone. Nice work, Branwen, by the way." He put his arm round her, and she leaned on his shoulder. Arian settled herself on his other side and, not to be outdone, Islay lay across his feet. Up against his shoulder, where only he could hear her, Branwen whispered; "We will get to Morwenna soon, won't we?"

By the time Billy and his son came back to the boat, Branwen had allowed the spell to fade away. If either of them noticed that the Garnet had seemed just a little insubstantial when they approached it, they didn't say anything. Maybe they just attributed it to a tankard or two of good ale.

The next morning, the Garnet cast off in that pre-dawn greyness when almost nothing else was awake. They found themselves slipping from river to estuary without really noticing where one ended and the other began. The banks of the river became gradually more distant from the boat, and on the Palatine shore, sand dunes alternated with mud flats. Thousands of wading birds covered the mud flats, oystercatchers and redshanks, and lots of little brown and white birds that Branwen didn't know the names of. The Tiraeg side of the estuary was higher, and mostly divided into fields. Above their heads, seagulls wheeled. The Garnet heeled over in the stiff breeze, and her bow started to cut through choppy waves and splash salt water over the deck. Mal and the girls were sitting out; Billy Garnet had tidied the canvas cover away just after they left port. Around them, other boats were moving up and down the river, wherries and keels, rowing boats and little dinghies with brown and white and red sails.

By the early afternoon, they were sailing close to the first houses of Aberllong, the big Tiraeg port at the mouth of the estuary. Ahead of them, they could see the open sea, and a sea-going ship with fore and aft castles and a big square sail, tacking up to the harbour.

As the Garnet got closer to the docks, Young Billy ran forward, and took up a boat hook ready to fend off other boats. They seemed to be heading for the solid stone wharf at a worrying speed, but they turned at the last second, and the boy jumped onto the wharf with the painter in his hand, and made it fast to a bollard. Billy Garnet left the tiller then, and threw another rope, fastened near the stern, to the boy to tie up. Overhead, the big brown sail flapped gently, at rest.

Mal got to his feet, and picked up his bundle and his stick. "Our thanks for a good journey," he said.

"Best get ashore," Billy Garnet said, smiling. "Don't want folks to think I carry _passengers,_ do I?"

They scrambled ashore, and found themselves soon separated from the wherry by the width of the wharf. Mal grabbed Islay by the collar and put her lead on before she disappeared under a donkey cart laden with boxes. Branwen had stopped in the shelter of a high wall, and was looking up at the crenellations along the top of it. A little further along, towards the sea, there were great round towers, with banners flying from the tops of them.

"Liam's at home," Mal commented, catching sight of a grey banner with a flying raven on it, and a broad blue border.

"Is that good or bad?" Branwen asked, looking suddenly worried.

Mal shrugged. "I'm pretty sure it's good," he said. "Come on. We've a long way to go yet."

They made their way along the curtain wall of the castle, away from the towers, until they came to a road that led uphill from the docks. Wagons and carts were creaking up and down the hill. A string of packhorses, unladen, was being led down onto the docks, and between them all men and women carried boxes and barrels and sacks. Branwen almost felt like putting her hands over her ears at the noise of it all. She'd thought Rath Mochnant had been big - and now she was in the middle of a medieval traffic jam, and she found herself totally unprepared for how loud it all was.

The good thing was, that no-one was taking the slightest bit of notice of two girls wearing boys' tunics and a man with a dog, as they hugged the side of the street and made their way up the hill. Once or twice, a porter made a detour round Arian, seemingly out of respect for the harp she carried, but other than that, they were jostled and ignored. They passed the gatehouse to the castle about halfway up the hill, and Branwen peered in from across the street, between a wagon full of flour sacks and a donkey cart carrying a stack of hides. A couple of bored-looking soldiers in grey surcoats were leaning on their spears and checking anyone who wanted to go inside. They didn't even glance over at Branwen. Worried that she'd lose Mal and Arian in the crowd, Branwen hurried after them.

The road widened into a broader space, crowded with small shops on one side and with the curtain wall rearing up blank on the other. An open sewer ran along the front of the shops, with room for pedestrians to walk past the open front windows, but close enough for the shop keepers to throw whatever they wanted into the foul smelling muck that oozed downhill. Once or twice, Islay stopped to investigate something that was sure to be long dead, but she didn't linger.

At the top of the hill, the crowds thinned, and Mal let Islay off the lead. they walked past larger houses and then workshops, and finally out of the few straggling cottages around the edge of the city and onto a narrow coast road along the top of a cliff.

Gulls wheeled around and below them, grey against the grey of the choppy sea and cloudy sky. The wind came in gusts off the sea that whipped at their cloaks. Branwen's cheeks were rosy with wind chill and she grinned at Mal.

"You never took me to the seaside!" she shouted, lifting her arms to the sides as if she wanted to take off and fly.

"He smiled. "I never thought of it," he said.

"This is fantastic!" she yelled. "If it was all like today, I'd never want to go home."

"At least we're safe here," Arian said. "This is Tir Bran, so Brychan and Brede can't come anywhere near us."

"She'd better not," Branwen said darkly. "When I think of how she was buttering me up, and pretending to be so helpful, when behind my back her and that Manannan were torturing Dad...."

Then she turned, as she realised that Mal was no longer beside them. He had stopped just down the track, and he was clinging to his stick as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes were closed, and his face was grey. "Dad, what's the matter?" she asked, suddenly a little afraid.

"I'll be all right in a minute," he said faintly. "My side hurts, that's all."

"Don't you think it's about time you stopped doing the Journey to Babel bit?" Branwen asked sharply.

He opened his eyes. "The what?" he asked.

"You know, pretending you're all right so Spock can go to Sickbay."

He managed a faint smile. "You're right - I feel foul. You can call Scotty up to the Bridge now." He lowered himself down onto the grass and sat hunched forwards over his raised knees. Arian and Branwen put their packs down and joined him. He looked at Arian apologetically. "I'm sorry. We were talking in code again, weren't we?"

Branwen started to rummage through Gwen's bundle, and came up with a cup, and a little stoneware bottle. "Lady Gwen told me to give you this if the pain got too bad," she said, unstoppering the bottle and measuring three or four mouthfuls into the cup.

He drank it back without a protest, and they sat for a while, watching a fat little sailing ship heading down the coast. It was close enough for them to see sailors climbing up the rigging to reef the sails.

None of them noticed the raven until it landed just a couple of yards from them. It strutted along the path until it came level with Mal, and looked at him with its head on one side. Mal stretched his arm out towards it, and it hopped on and sidled up to his elbow. His arm wavered with the weight of it. There was a ring round its leg, and Mal grinned. "Raven," he said, "Malcolm Petroc, Arian Malcolm and Branwen _yspridwch_ greet your mistress."

The raven bobbed its head a couple of times, and then launched itself into flight. Islay rushed out from behind Arian as the raven took off, barking as if she was responsible for seeing it off. They watched it head along the cliff in the same direction that they were going. Mal heaved himself to his feet. "Morwenna's expecting us," he said, as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Morwenna talks to ravens?" Branwen asked, dubiously.

"Of course," Mal said. "She's an _awynwch_. That's like me and Arian, but her Talent is Air rather than Fire. Why else do you think she lives on top of a windy cliff top at the end of the world?"

They walked on a little way, and then Branwen said; "Dad. Why did you introduce yourself and Arian with two names and I only got one?"

Mal looked embarrassed. "To be honest," he said, "I can't remember your parents' names."

"Doesn't matter, though," Arian said. "The important thing is to get Morwenna to give us torcs."

Branwen ran a finger round her bare neck uneasily. "Why does that make a difference?" she asked.

"Only foreigners and outlaws go bare necked," Mal explained. "They've no protection, so they have no legal rights. It doesn't matter so much in big cities like Aberllong, but in the rest of the country you'll notice that even the poorest peasants have at least a copper torc, and if you touch Dai the Peasant, then eventually you'll have one of the Great Families to answer to."

"And this necklace really doesn't count for much," Arian said. "Not that I'll stop wearing it, Dad." She grinned at him - and then pointed along the coast. "Horses coming," she said. "What should we do?"

Mal looked in the direction she was pointing. "I think we're okay," he said. "I think this is what the raven was coming to tell us."

There were two riders, light grey cloaks flapping in the sea breeze, and they were leading three horses between them. They drew rein just short of Mal, and the lead rider bowed slightly in the saddle. "I'm Sorcha Nerys," she said. "Greetings from Morwenna of Ravenscar, Malcolm Petroc."

He bowed in return. "She does us honour," he said, formally.

Branwen looked at him dubiously, and then at the riderless horses, even more dubiously. Mal and Arian mounted quite easily, while she found herself going round in small circles with one leg up to the stirrup until the other rider steadied the horse for her and gave her a hand. As she heaved herself into the saddle, Branwen muttered, "I hate riding," through gritted teeth.

She had to admit, though, that they got to Ravenscar a lot faster than they would have done if they were walking. She saw the tower, first of all, perched close to the edge of the cliff like a lighthouse, and around it on the headland a confused jumble of grey buildings. A bank and ditch ran across the headland on the landward side, and they crossed it by a causeway, through a wooden gatehouse.

Once they had dismounted, their bags were taken away, and they were led into a low building that turned out to be a bath house. Mal followed the bath attendant down a corridor, and the girls were left in the changing room.

"This is a very good sign," Arian said, as they got undressed. Some light came through the small windows high in the walls, but the room was made cozy with candlelight, and the tiled floor seemed warm under their bare feet. "Morwenna must be in favour of us if she's going to all this trouble for us."

They soaked in huge half-barrels. Branwen was pleased to find that there was even soap - she'd been given some at Rath Mochnant, but she wasn't sure how widespread its use was - so she could wash her hair properly. Then, swathed in thick, soft towels, they went back to the changing room.

Their clothes were gone, and had been replaced by clothes that even Branwen could see were of better quality; creamy coloured linen undershirts and, for her, green woollen trousers and a moss green woollen tunic with gold embroidery round the neck and cuffs, and a full hand span of embroidery round the wide hem. She twirled round, wishing for a full length mirror to admire the effect, while Arian pulled on a similar outfit.

"These are lovely," she said, pulling at a tangle in her hair with a bone comb, "but - I was kind of hoping for one of those princess-y dresses, with the wide sleeves?"

"We're not Over the River now," Arian said. "Only really old people wear long robes in Ytir."

"I didn't mean robes - I meant a dress, like Lady Gwen wears," Branwen said, "but it doesn't matter." She shook her head to rid herself of unwelcome memories. The Ard Ri had worn a long robe, and so had Cathbad and Dylan.

There was a knock at the door, and Mal's voice through it. "You two ready?" he asked.

Arian opened the door, and Mal slipped in, Islay at his heels. He was freshly shaved, and his tunic was plum coloured with an undershirt so dark red it was almost black. His trousers were the same dark red, and his belt was of bronze plaques instead of the dyed leather the girls had been given.

"Very Sixties," Branwen remarked.

Mal raised a Spockian eyebrow. "I thought it looked quite stylish, myself. You two ready for the grand entrance?"

The great hall was smaller than Branwen expected - only about the same size as the gym at school, with a low dais at the far end. Everyone had been telling her how important Morwenna was, so she'd expected it to be bigger and grander. There were two rows of tables down the room, with an aisle down the middle, and another table on the dais across the room. Dinner seemed to be about to be served, as servants came in and out of a door at the bottom end of the hall with trays and dishes. There was a buzz of conversation, which died away as they entered.

"Chins up," Mal murmured. Arian and Branwen stepped out down the aisle, with Mal a half pace behind them. Islay trotted at his side, wagging her tail.

Up on the top table, the central chair was occupied by a tiny, bird-like woman with her white hair coiled in a plaited coronet on top of her head. Perched on the back of the chair was the raven.

At the base of the dais, Arian, Mal and Branwen stopped. Arian and Mal bowed smoothly and in perfect unison. Branwen managed an awkward little bob about half a beat behind them. Morwenna looked down on them impassively for a moment, and then indicated that they should come up onto the dais. Branwen couldn't fault her timing. When Mal had likened her to T'Pau, he'd been quite accurate. She could probably scare the locals half to death if she wanted, but Branwen couldn't bring herself to be too impressed. It was hard to be scared of someone who appeared to have no teeth at all. Still, she was one of the most important people in Ytir, allegedly, so it was worth being polite.

Morwenna crooked her finger at Branwen, and patted the chair nearest to her on the dais.

"Branwen _yspridwch_ ," Morwenna said. "I had word from Rhodri of Dinefor of your coming. You want something of me, I understand."

Branwen smiled ruefully. "I - we - thought you might be able to help me," she said, glancing along the table to where Mal and Arian were sitting beside two young men wearing gold torcs with raven's head finials.

Food arrived, in the form of a wooden board covered with a slab of gravy soaked bread and a heap of meat and vegetables piled on top. Branwen looked at it helplessly. There seemed to be nothing to eat it with. She looked across to Mal and Arian and saw that they were sharing a similar platter, and eating with the bronze daggers that had been provided along with their belts. Islay was sitting hopefully next to Mal, the tip of her tail quivering in expectation.

Branwen pulled her own dagger out of the scabbard and looked at it dubiously. Morwenna was tucking into the juiciest portions of the meal with a spoon - so no help on dagger etiquette there. Cautiously, she speared a piece of beef with the tip of her dagger and nibbled at it. She was quite hungry, but this was harder than it looked on the old Robin Hood films. When she'd been at Rath Mochnant, she'd had all her meals delivered to her on a tray, in her room, and she'd never seen the main hall while people were eating there. She hadn't been expecting to share a plate.

Another servant brought goblets of red wine. Picking hers up and sipping from it gave Branwen time to look round the hall to see how other people were eating. The light was quite dim, coming from racks of candles at intervals round the walls. There was a big fireplace, but no fire burning. Even so, two enormous grey wolfhounds lay stretched out across the hearth. A small boy lounged between the front paws of one of them, half asleep on the rush matting.

Elsewhere, everyone was sharing a plate, and seemed to be having no problems spearing their food. Everyone seemed to be weighed down with jewellery too. There were the gold and silver torcs, and some people were wearing big silver and garnet brooches, or narrow circlets around their heads and bracelets up their arms. And there were the same crimes against colour co-ordination that she'd noticed at Rath Mochnant. People in Ytir seemed to like clashing colours, and lots of them. A lot of the people with gold torcs had their hair arranged in four plaits, including the two young men at the top table.

Branwen struggled through the meal, and at least was no longer feeling hungry when the plates were cleared away.

"Why do you come to me for help?" Morwenna asked abruptly.

Branwen started. "Well, actually it was Dad's idea," she said. "I said that what we needed was someone neutral, who everyone would listen to and then he said - what about you?" she amended quickly. Telling her that he had said "Is Morwenna still alive?" would not, she realised belatedly, be tactful.

She looked over towards Mal - and saw him looking quietly mortified. It was easy to read the top layers of his mind - which gave her some idea of what to say next without totally putting her foot in it.

"And why do you need someone neutral?" Morwenna asked.

Branwen took a deep breath. What did she call the old lady? She fished through Mal's memories quickly. "Madam," she said at last, "everyone wants me to do what they want - the Ard Ri did, and General Brychan, and Duke Phillip in Andelys - they all want me for what I can do for them. No one ever asks me what I want. My parents didn't ask me. They just handed me over to the Ard Ri's people. The Lady Brede pretended to be nice to me - but behind the scenes...." She shuddered, and glanced across at Mal again. "The only person - the _only_ one - who ever asked me what I wanted was Dad - Malcolm Petroc. When I was six years old, and being taken out of my village for the first time in my life, he tried to explain what was going to happen to me so that I could understand. He asked me what I wanted to do - and I wanted to go with him.

"So - I'm asking for your protection, madam. I've been away from this world for ten years - I know it's only been a year here, but I hardly even remember living here any more, and I don't want to get involved in all the power struggles. I don't really know who all these people are - and I don't want to know. Dad thought that, once a new Ard Ri was chosen, then we wouldn't have all these rival groups trying to get hold of me - then I can go home without worrying that someone else from Ytir is going to come through a Portal and try to get me to come back again. Is that really so unreasonable?"

Morwenna leaned her chin on her clasped hands and looked out over the hall. At last she said bluntly, "You have caused a lot of trouble in this land, child, you and Malcolm Petroc, and now you want to involve me in this mare's nest?"

"I'm sorry," Branwen said. "Shouldn't I have come? What else could I do instead, if you won't help us?"

"I didn't say I would not help," Morwenna said sharply. "I think it will not be as easy as you seem to think, though."

"Lady, if you can't get the Great Families to agree," Mal said, "then Ytir will tear itself apart. I think there is no-one else with the authority you have, if you would be prepared to use it."

"I'm an old woman," she said, but there was a bright sparkle in her eyes. "I should be sitting by the fire with a shawl round my shoulders and my great-grandchildren round my knees, not gadding about the countryside arguing with all and sundry."

"Lady, you could always get them to come here," Mal suggested slyly.

She almost grinned. "I could, at that." The grin broadened. "Brede hates it here - can't stand the wind howling. Oh, it would be worth it for that alone." She extended her hand to him along the table and he bent to kiss her ring. "You can stay, young man," she said. "You may be a troublemaker, but I can see your heart's in the right place."

He slipped out of his chair and came to kneel beside her. "Then, would you grant us the honour of your protection, Morwenna of the Ravens, Lady of Ravenscar?"

She looked directly into his eyes, tiny enough to be the same height sitting as he was, kneeling. "Come round where everybody can see you," she said, "and the girls, too."

She led them round in front of the table, where everyone in the room could see them. One of the young men leaned across the table with a small wooden box with a high carved lid. Branwen didn't see where he'd got it from - he might have had it under his chair all along. Morwenna took a silver torc, decorated with raven's head finials, out of the box and held it up. "Malcolm Petroc, if you will promise to be faithful to me alone, I promise in turn to protect you from any enemies."

"By the Spear and the Sword and the Stone and the Cauldron, I swear."

She placed the torc between his upraised hands. "Then we make the contract of _lanamnas_ , Malcolm Petroc, kin to Ravenscar."

He slipped the torc round his neck, rose, and bowed. Then he moved to stand behind Branwen and Arian.

"What was your mother's name, child?" Morwenna asked.

Branwen bit her lip. "I've no idea," she said, "or my father. Does it matter?"

"You need two names," Morwenna said.

"But - I've got two names," Branwen said. "I'm Branwen Petroc."

Morwenna looked over her shoulder at Mal, an amused twinkle in her eye. "It seems you have the quality of inspiring loyalty, at any rate - very well, Branwen Petroc, adopted daughter of Malcolm Petroc, do you promise to be faithful to me alone? In return, I promise to protect you from all enemies."

Branwen hesitated for a minute. "You do know what we did at Rath Mochnant, don't you?" she asked abruptly. "I mean - all those dead people?"

Morwenna raised a narrow eyebrow. "Of course I know what happened there," she said.

"And - and you don't mind?"

"I wouldn't exactly go that far," Morwenna said drily. "Ytir has been plunged into chaos, after all. On the other hand, I'd blame Morgannwg's _yspridwch_ just as much as you and your father for that. They should have been trying to contain all that loose power, not feeding more power into it - and they were trained, while you are not."

"But - wasn't Morgannwg your cousin or something?" Branwen persisted. She could feel Mal behind her, getting more and more tense - and she knew that she shouldn't be trying to talk Morwenna out of giving her the torc. She just wanted to be sure that it was the right thing to do.

"Ah," Morwenna said quietly. "Child, if there's vengeance to be taken for that death, then it's for the successor of the Ard Ri to pursue it, if they choose to, and that depends very much on who the successor turns out to be. There are certain Great Families that I would avoid for the forseeable future, if I were you - but that is why you are here, isn't it? Now, do you want my protection, or not?"

"Okay, yes - by the Spear and the Sword and - um - the Stone and the Cauldron, yes. Yes, please, I do."

"In that case, now we have everything settled between us, I make the contract of _lanamnas_ with you, Branwen Petroc, kin to Ravenscar."

She placed the torc in Branwen's hands, and Branwen slid it round her neck with hands that were shaking slightly. Then she stood up and backed up a pace to stand beside Mal, who was radiating relief.

"Arian Malcolm?" Morwenna asked. "Do you have any moral qualms about receiving my protection?"

She turned round to face Mal. "I'm sorry, dad. I said I wouldn't take this off." Her hand was up to the silver necklace.

"What's this?" Morwenna bent closer to inspect the filigree silver flower with the small pearl at its centre.

"It's all right, Arian," Mal said. "This is more important."

"I know - but...."

"Arian!"

"I'm sorry," Arian said, turning back to Morwenna. "Dad gave me this - we didn't have a torc...."

"You really are a most annoying family," Morwenna said.

"I'm sorry - but I'm pledged to dad, and dad's pledged to you...."

"And you really should take the torc," Mal said, with an edge of exasperation in his voice.

Arian bent her head, and fumbled with the catch of the necklace. Then she wound it twice round her left wrist, and fastened it again.

"Are you finally ready for me?" Morwenna asked. "I can honestly say I have never witnessed anyone so reluctant to gain my protection in my life!"

Arian bent her head, blushing, and held out her hands.

"Arian Malcolm, if you will promise to be faithful to me alone, I promise in turn to protect you from all enemies."

"By the Spear and the Sword and the Stone and the Cauldron, I swear," Arian said, so quickly she was almost gabbling.

"Then we make the contract of _lanamnas_ , Arian Malcolm, kin to Ravenscar," Morwenna said. "And now, I think, we all need more wine."

They went down into the body of the hall, then, to meet all their new kin, and when Mal looked back at the dais, he saw that Morwenna had gone. The people in the hall were polite, but not overly enthusiastic. Morwenna's decision was being respected, but Mal could tell that it wasn't popular.

"Don't worry about the nay-sayers." One of the young men who had been sitting at the top table came to join them. "They don't want to get involved in the civil war - it's nothing personal. Well, I suppose it might be personal with you, Malcolm Petroc - and I don't suppose anyone's ever seen a _lanamnas_ ceremony quite like this one...."

"I wasn't expecting it to happen this evening," Mal admitted. "I thought I'd have a chance to speak to the girls first."

"I could see that." The young man grinned. "I'm Aidan, by the way. Grandmother wanted me to keep an eye on you all while you're here."

Mal bowed. "My thanks, Aidan Howell Morwenna," he said. "Those girls need someone to keep an eye on them. Goddess knows I can't control them!"

He slept late the next day, and woke still aching. He had been given a small room in the guest chambers, and he'd been almost asleep on his feet by the time he got there. Somewhere in his bag, though, was the little bottle of dwale that Gwen had packed for him. A swig of that helped the pain in his side, but it also made him feel so sleepy that he was tempted to go back to bed.

A knock on the door stopped him. One of the little girls who had been in the great hall the night before popped her head round the door. "Master Malcolm, Lady Morwenna wants to see you. She's in her tower."

The dark head disappeared, and Mal sighed and pulled his new tunic over his head. Picking up his stick, he went out. Since the Lady had summoned him, there wouldn't be time to stop for breakfast.

"You took your time," Morwenna observed, from her seat by the window. Mal had climbed six flights of stairs, to an open room at the top of the tower with wide, glass-less windows on all four sides. Pigeons and gulls roosted in the rafters and flew in and out of the windows. Morwenna was surrounded by the sounds of wings and wind.

Mal leaned on his stick, gasping for breath. "My apologies, Lady - all those stairs...."

Morwenna snorted. "I manage it. Come here and sit." He limped over to the window seat and sat opposite her. She looked at him sharply. "Is it all that time in the other world made you so unfit, or is it something else?" she asked.

"When we came through the Portal," Mal admitted, "I was stabbed in the side."

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were wounded?" she asked.

He shrugged, feeling stupid. "With everyone in Ytir and the Palatinate out to get us? I felt vulnerable enough, without broadcasting it. And last night Branwen was the important one, not me."

"Hm. She would have done better if she hadn't been quite so honest last night," Morwenna said. "I'm glad to see that you and yours are not bringing lies under my roof tree, but there was no need to be quite so open about it."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea what she was going to say."

"I could tell that." Morwenna smiled then. "Your father wouldn't have had that sort of trouble with young ladies. He always had them eating out of his hand."

Mal stared at her.

"Petroc Douglas came here, of course," she continued, smiling at the memory. "He was a good looking rogue with a silver tongue - I liked him. I was sorry when he died. You're quieter than he was, but I suppose that's not surprising."

"Madam, I don't think anyone else remembers him," Mal said slowly. "But it's Branwen I'm concerned about now. I know we won't be able to just hide under your wings until there's a new Ard Ri. Everyone else who was after us would have used me as a hostage to force Branwen to do what they wanted. I knew you wouldn't do that - but you'll still want to make use of her Talent. Tell us what you need us to do."

"I think my grandsons have that safely in hand," Morwenna said, "and young Rhodri Ithel and his friends. You'll have a little time before they have arranged everything. And I may find something to suit your unique talents as well," she added, "when you're healed. You should go to my doctor when you leave me. Anyone will tell you where to find him."

Duncan Mark was sitting in the sun with his feet up, in a corner sheltered from the sea wind. On the little table beside him was an open scroll, weighed down at one end by an apricot, but he was ignoring that in favour of a game of backgammon he was playing against himself. He looked up as Mal approached. "Care to join me?" he asked, indicating the game.

"Care to do a spot of work first?" Mal asked, smiling. "I can see you're rushed off your feet."

"Goddess! A patient!" The doctor pushed himself out of his chair, and grabbed Mal's arm. "I mustn't let you get away," he said, grinning broadly.

Mal went inside with him. "Morwenna doesn't keep you very busy then?" he asked, perching on a bench just inside the door.

"Morwenna is indecently healthy," the doctor confirmed. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Have a look at a stab wound for me?" Mal said. He was already pulling his tunic up.

Duncan Mark unwound the bandage and examined the wound. "Nice stitching," he remarked. "Just about ready to come out. I can do that now if you like."

Mal held still while he snipped, daubed some salve around the wound, and then re-bandaged. "Healing nicely," he said. "Pity I can't say the same about those scars." He took Mal's hands and turned them to examine his wrists. "Just clench your fists for me, would you?" he asked, releasing Mal's hands. "And stretch your fingers," he continued. "Been giving you a bit of trouble?" he asked.

Mal nodded.

"Mm, pity I couldn't have seen this nearer the time of the injury. I don't think there's much I can do now. You may as well put your tunic back on," he added. As Mal pulled the tunic straight, the doctor said; "You were a Harper, weren't you? How's the playing going?"

"My daughter's had my harp for a while, so I haven't been able to play at all," Mal said.

"Mm," the doctor said quietly. "How about that game of backgammon you promised me?"

Arian hardly noticed her father enter the hall. She was sitting at the feet of Morwenna's Harper, with her chin in her hands, and her harp on a small stool in front of her, paying rapt attention. Apart from those two, and Islay lying curled up against Arian's feet, the hall was empty. Quietly, Mal sat down on a bench by the wall, leaned back, and listened to the master class.

Gwalchmai Morgan tired of the lesson long before Arian did. She looked as if she would have happily listened to him all day. He got to his feet, stretched, and rubbed the small of his back. "I'm going to get a drink," he said. "I've done enough for today. You practice that fingering I've just shown you if you want."

Arian looked after him, her eyes shining. "Did you hear, Dad?" she asked. She came to sit on the bench beside Mal, almost bouncing with excitement. "That's Gwalchmai Morgan, and he's giving me lessons!"

"I'm suitably impressed," Mal said. He was proud of her - Gwalchmai Morgan had been famous in Ytir long before she was born, and if he was taking notice of her, and encouraging her, then he must think she was good.

"I'll show you what we've been doing," she said, beaming.

She brought the harp over to Mal, and tried out the tune that Gwalchmai had been teaching her a couple more times.

"May I?" Mal asked at last.

Arian paused, and blushed. "I suppose I should give this back to you," she said reluctantly. "I was only supposed to be keeping it for you." She passed the harp over to him.

Mal ran his fingers over the strings, and played through the same tune that Arian had just been learning. Then he followed it up with the Song of the Blackbird.

Halfway through, he faltered, carried on for a moment, then, in mid-tune, he put the harp aside. He tried clenching his fists and then stretching his fingers. Arian looked at him curiously. "Something the matter, Dad?" she asked. She was just quick enough to notice the expression of pain as he flexed his fingers - but then it was gone, and he was smiling again, slightly ruefully.

"I think you should keep the harp for now, Arian," he said. "I think you can make better use of it than I can."

He caught up with Gwalchmai by the buttery. The Harper had collected a mug of buttermilk and a couple of drop scones and was wandering away with them in his hand. He nodded politely as Mal came up to him.

"I'd like to thank you," Mal said, "for being so generous to my daughter. It means a lot to her."

Gwalchmai smiled. "I wasn't being generous," he said. "You don't think I'd waste my time giving lessons to any talentless little girl who came begging for them, do you? I heard her play first. She's good, and she'll get better. But then," he added thoughtfully, "she comes from good stock. I heard you play at Cader once."

"That must have been - what? - twelve years ago as the time goes here? I'm surprised you remember."

"Oh, when it comes to performers, I have a memory like a dragon for its hoard," Gwalchmai said. "When I'm presented with my grandchildren, on the other hand, I find it easier to call them all 'nestling' and hope for the best." He chuckled. Mal grinned too.

Gwalchmai took a long pull from his tankard of buttermilk and then added; "I remember Petroc Douglas playing too. We even studied together, briefly, under the great Niall Connor, you know."

"Really?" Mal shook his head disbelievingly. "I never knew my father was that good."

"He could have been better than he was," Gwalchmai said. "Too restless - he could never settle with one patron. If you like," he added, "you could play this evening, at dinner, and that isn't being generous, either. I only step aside for the visiting Harpers I think are good enough."

Mal looked away, and rubbed at the back of one hand with the other. He was still getting the shooting pains, even after he'd stopped playing. "I - don't think so," he said slowly. "I thank you for the offer, but I don't think I can."

Gwalchmai gave him a quizzical look, and then shrugged. "Some other time, perhaps," he said casually.

Mal hardly saw his daughters now, except for mealtimes - which were no longer at the top table, after the first night. Branwen had struck up a friendship with Glynis Aide, Morwenna's young _yspridwch,_ and Arian was spending all the time she could with Gwalchmai Morgan, which was to say every morning until he got tired of her and told her to go away.

Now he was playing something simple and gentle while people ate - until he stilled the strings and nodded across the hall to Arian.

"Oh, my," Arian breathed. She swung her legs over the bench quickly and stood up. Mal just had time to murmur "Good luck," to her and flash her an encouraging grin before she made her way up to where Gwalchmai sat.

Her harp was already there, tucked to one side. She took it up and sat on the stool he had vacated for her. As he went round to join the other diners at the top table, she struck up a tune, and began to sing.

There was no trace of nervousness now, except perhaps for a disinclination to look up at the audience. Her voice was sweet and pure, and pitched exactly right for the size of the hall and the murmur of conversation over dinner. Mal pushed his trencher to one side and gave her his full attention.

He was slightly disturbed to find that he felt jealous of her. He'd gone straight back to the doctor when he left Gwalchmai, but nothing the doctor could do would help. Duncan Mark hadn't even been able to say if it would improve with time. He was getting slight twinges every day, from simple basic stuff like - well, like using his knife at dinner, if he wasn't careful. Until he'd actually tried it, though, it hadn't occurred to him that he might not be able to play the harp again. Now it had been brought home to him, with painful clarity, and thinking about it was deeply depressing.

The next morning found him sitting at the top of the cliff close to Morwenna's tower with Islay, moodily throwing stones over the edge.

Branwen had gone off to practice something arcane with Glynis Aide.

He'd heard harp music coming from the hall, which told him where Arian and Gwalchmai were. He'd given the hall a wide berth.

The wound in his side was hardly troubling him at all now, but he was still being treated like an invalid.

He chucked another stone, slightly more savagely.

"I detest people who feel sorry for themselves," came a voice from behind him.

He whirled round, to see Morwenna standing behind him, leaning on her cane. Islay, who had been sitting at his feet, backed away from the raven, who was standing next to Morwenna.

Mal got to his feet hastily. Morwenna seemed to have a unique talent of her own - he always felt about ten years old when she spoke to him.

Morwenna waved the entourage of attendants who followed her off to a discreet distance and came to sit on the bench next to him. He sat down again. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose I'm not used to doing nothing. No-one seems to need me for anything."

"Including your daughters," Morwenna said.

Mal stared at her.

"No, reading minds is not part of an _awynwch's_ abilities," Morwenna said, "but I'm a mother, and a grandmother, and even a great-grandmother, and I have eyes in my head which are still sharp enough. They're growing up, and they don't need you to be responsible for them. You're not the first parent to go through this, you know."

"I suppose not." Mal looked out to sea, following the flight of the raven as it rode the air currents along the edge of the cliff so he wouldn't have to meet Morwenna's steady gaze. "The thing is - if Branwen doesn't need me any more, what have I got left? A small bookshop in an alien world, and a dog, and if I stay here too long, I won't even have the bookshop. The rent won't pay itself, not for long, anyway. I can't be a Harper any more, and I don't know what else I could do in Ytir. Then, I keep thinking about all those deaths at Rath Mochnant. If I lived for a thousand years I couldn't raise enough money to pay all that compensation, and I've certainly got no kin to help me pay it. I couldn't ask the Raven Clan to take something like that on," he added, apologetically. "If you can only protect Branwen, that's more than enough." He sighed, deeply. "Maybe I should just go back to Hay."

"Fade back into the background again, you mean?" Morwenna snorted. "Seems to me you're far too good at doing that."

"I don't think there is any foreground, though," he protested.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders," Morwenna said. "You must have, to have survived in an alien world for so long. There's always a need for clever men. And there's one thing you haven't thought of," she added slyly.

He looked at her curiously.

"Murder is all to do with intent," she said. "I'm surprised you don't remember that. Without the intent, there is no liability to pay compensation to the victims' families, and any _yspridwch_ worth their salt would be able to verify that neither of you intended to kill anyone."

He stared at her, speechless.

"I have very good lawyers," she said, smugly. "And the girls may not need you now, but you'll always be their father. There is, also, a small job you can do for me. We'll see how you get on with that, shall we?"

"Madam, I am so far in your debt that nothing I could do would ever repay it," Mal said. "What would you like me to do?"

Morwenna looked at him sidelong. "I can't see you running up to the top of my tower yet, but I think you'll do," she said. "You can be my herald. I want you to go to Rath Mochnant to tell Brede to stop being so stupid and to get herself to Breninlow if she wants any chance of becoming Rigatona."

"Me?" Mal had gone pale very suddenly.

"There's nothing hard in being a messenger boy," Morwenna said tartly. "We'll all be going to Breninlow the day after tomorrow. I've arranged ships with Liam, and transport from Cader Ardry to Breninlow. You can tell Brede from me that it's about time she was sensible. She can't hide inside the hill fort forever, hoping her rivals will tear each other apart and save her the trouble. Sorcha and Nesta will go with you." She got to her feet and, belatedly, he rose too, and bowed.

As she walked away, Mal sat down on the bench. He felt slightly sick. "Be careful what you wish for - you may get it," he murmured to himself. Of all the things in the world that he would rather not do, going to Rath Mochnant and meeting Brede came just about top of the list. His stomach churned just thinking of the last time they had met. Morwenna could have no idea about that, though. She was just trying to keep him busy. As she'd said, it was just being a messenger boy. He'd done that sort of thing many times when he was a Royal Harper. It shouldn't be the slightest bit dangerous - but it scared him witless, all the same.

It didn't take him long to pack, but he took the time to find Branwen and Arian before he went down to the stable yard.

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Branwen demanded. She was sitting in the little garden outside the building where Glynis had her rooms, doing something with amulets.

"Morwenna's got a little job for me," Mal said, "so I need you to look after Islay. And you'll be on the move soon, too - everyone's going to Breninlow, and then, finally, we'll get a decision on the new Ard Ri - or Rigatona."

"And then we can go home," Branwen said. "Good." She took Islay's lead, and walked with Mal towards the stable yard.

The sound of music coming from the hall had stopped, but Arian was still there, putting her harp back in its case.

"You're leaving? Why?" Arian demanded.

"Playing the Herald for Morwenna," Mal said. "Don't worry. I'll catch up with you at Breninlow."

"You'd better," Arian said. She slung the harp case over her shoulder and followed him.

Sorcha Nerys and her friend Nesta were waiting for him. They wore the grey livery of Ravenscar, and Sorcha carried Morwenna's personal standard over her shoulder, a grey rectangle of silk with a soaring raven in black at the centre, attached to a flagstaff as tall as she was. They looked capable, no-nonsense young women and the swords they were wearing were clearly not just for show. He met them in the stableyard near the main gate. Sorcha looked him up and down, and picked out one of the quieter horses for him. He decided it wasn't worth getting annoyed about - but as he mounted he did smile pleasantly in her direction. "I'm not totally out of practice, you know," he said mildly.

She raised an eyebrow, and tossed Morwenna's banner at him. He caught it deftly and seated the pole on his stirrup.

Unexpectedly, she grinned. "You've done that before," she said.

He shook out the folds of the banner, pleased that the memory had come back to him so easily. "Once or twice," he answered. He looked down at Branwen and Arian as Sorcha and Nesta mounted up. "Look after the little dog, and I'll see you at Breninlow," he said. Then he turned the horse's head towards the gate, and led the way out of the stable yard.

Islay tugged on the lead, and whined. Branwen knelt down to give her a hug. "That was impressive," she said. "I never knew he could do that thing with the banner."

Arian grinned. "He was letting them know they chose the wrong horse for him," she said.

Branwen looked puzzled. "What's wrong with the horse?" she asked.

"It's the sort of horse they'd pick out for you," Arian said, not unkindly. "A beginner's horse, if you like. Dad's not a beginner."

They watched the three riders pass through the arch of the gate house and disappear. Abruptly, Branwen's grin faded. "Do you reckon he'll be all right?" she asked. "Only he was really worried, on the quiet."

"Course he will," Arian said cheerfully. "Who'd harm a Herald?"

*****

Breninlow

It was amazing to Branwen just how fast an establishment as big as Ravenscar could pack up and be ready to leave. On the morning of their departure, baggage wagons harnessed to white - cows, she supposed, with horns and everything - were piled high with luggage and thirty or forty people, and several dogs, were milling around in the grassy space between the buildings and the bank and ditch around the landward side of the headland. There were horses, saddled and ready, and a litter like the one she had ridden in with Mal on the journey from Valery. Morwenna's raven was sitting on the ridgepole of it, and Aidan was holding the reins of the lead horse himself. Branwen managed to get a ride on one of the wagons, with Islay, while Arian found a horse. They were in Aberllong by noon, and embarked on Liam Tir Bran's ship by the afternoon turn in the tide. Branwen found herself a place on the quarterdeck, out of the way, to watch.

She wasn't the only passenger there. Morwenna was sitting on a little camp stool beside the steersman, with her grandson Aidan beside her. Half a dozen others she recognised from Ravenscar were clustered near the rail, and she moved to join them. High on the mainmast, there were sailors unfurling the huge sail, clinging to the rigging in a way that made Branwen very glad she didn't have to go up there herself. Then the wind filled the sail, and the ship began to move, away from the wharf and out towards the open sea.

That was when Branwen realised why Morwenna was sitting by the steersman. The wind in the sail was coming from a completely different direction to the wind from the sea. Morwenna, who looked as if one puff of wind would blow her away, was filling the ship's mainsail with the wind of an _awynwch's_ Talent, and taking them out to sea.

Once they were clear of Aberllong, though, Morwenna went below, and left the ship to sail by the natural wind. Branwen leaned on the rail and watched the sailors climbing the rigging, and the cliffs of Tir Bran slipping by in the distance, while Islay found a patch of sunshine by the mizzen mast and settled down to sleep.

They arrived at the broad mouth of the Ouse the following morning, and Branwen was still below when Arian bobbed her head through the hatch to the cargo deck that they were using as a dormitory. "Come on up," she said. "We're coming in to Cader!"

Branwen followed her up on deck, and joined her in the waist of the ship. Ahead of them and to the left, the eight towers of the palace reared up, and across the river ahead of them was a broad stone bridge, cutting off any further navigation up the river for ships as big as the one she was on. All around them was the city; warehouses, wharves, stone and timber houses, all jammed together, with a haze of smoke above from a thousand hearth fires. A forest of masts lay between their ship and the shore, attached to every sort of boat she could imagine. There were slim, fast-looking galleys with rows of oars, others with the central mast and dragon prow of a Viking longship, ships with a little castle at each end, fat little ships with triangular sails... and flags, everywhere. There were the banners on the turrets of the palace; the green dragon of Ytir, along with a leaping salmon, and a goose, and a hare, banners drooping from the masts of ships, in red and blue and green, with silver stars and golden lions....

"See there, behind the warehouses?" Arian pointed off to one side. "That's one of the temples for the sailors from the Empire."

Branwen thought she could make out a low, more or less oval building in the distance. "What about your temples?" she asked. She'd seen the small shrine to the Goddess at Ravenscar, out in the open near Morwenna's tower, but there was surely something more elaborate in a place as big as this.

Arian snorted. "The Goddess doesn't live in a _building_!" she said. "Look, there, up-river. See the trees? That's the Grove."

"And what's that field over there?" Branwen asked.

Arian grinned. "That's the Field of Champions."

"What, for fighting?"

"No, much more important than that - _shinty!_ " Arian grinned widely. "And there's the fish market, and behind it is the Horse Fair...."

Up on the quarterdeck, Aidan was guiding the ship to its mooring, mid-stream, and the anchor went down with a splash and a rattle of chain.

When Mal left Ravenscar, he only had to ride as far as Aberllong. They went up river in one of Liam Tir Bran's cutters, and rode out again from Tobar on horses from a stable belonging to a tenant of Dinefor.

The small city of tents had gone from around the walls of the hillfort, leaving yellowed patches of grass and muddy pathways behind. The hillfort itself looked almost deserted, apart from the smoke from the kitchens at one end of the range of buildings, and the green dragon of Ytir banner flying from the highest tower beside the white boar banner of Brede's Clan.

The gates were firmly closed.

"Unfriendly, isn't she?" Mal murmured. Sorcha and Nesta flanked him now, half a horse length behind him. He reined in to look up at the gatehouse, and then walked his horse slowly forwards. Sorcha and Nesta kept pace with him. They stopped about ten paces short of the gate, and Mal shook out the banner so everyone could see the raven depicted on it.

After a moment, heads appeared between the crenellations over the gate. Mal moved forward a pace. "Greetings to Brede of the White Boar, from Morwenna of Ravenscar," he called. "I have a message for her, to be delivered in person."

One of the guards above the gate shouted back; "The Rigatona is not receiving any Heralds."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "Calling herself Rigatona already?" he murmured, for Sorcha and Nesta's benefit. Nesta made a noise that may have been a snort of derision, but she was too discreet for it to be noticed by the guards up on the gate.

"I suggest you call your Captain," Mal shouted. "And make sure that the - Rigatona \- knows that Morwenna has a message for her, and that the message is being delivered by Malcolm Petroc."

If that wasn't setting himself up for target practice, he didn't know what was - but it was his job to get inside, and he owed it to Morwenna to give it his best shot.

"What does the Lady of Ravenscar have to say to the Rigatona?" the guard asked.

"That is for her ears alone," Mal retorted. "Or would you prefer that we take her message to General Brychan, or Ailesh the Swan Lady? I'm sure they would recieve us with more courtesy."

Quite calmly, he began to wheel his horse around.

Sorcha made a grab for his reins. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Strange as it may seem," he said quietly, "I'm getting into the hillfort."

He continued to turn away and, grudgingly, Sorcha let her horse sidestep to give him space to turn.

There was a flurry of movement up on the top of the gatehouse, and a new voice, parade ground strong, shouted: "Stand where you are!"

Mal stopped, and slowly turned again to face the gate.

"Wait there," the new voice said.

They waited. Someone went down from the gatehouse. After an interval, someone came back. The gate opened for them.

"Oh. Joy," Mal muttered. He urged his horse forwards, through the narrow opening, with Sorcha and Nesta flanking him on either side. As soon as they were through, the gate slammed shut with a hollow boom.

Breninlow really wasn't that far from Cader Ardry. Branwen had been allowed to travel in one of the wagons again, and Islay managed to insinuate herself onto the wagon with her, where she grinned smugly at everyone who had to walk.

Branwen thought of the trips they'd made to Shrewsbury and Worcester and Gloucester, with the black and white timbered houses leaning across narrow streets. Looking around her now, she could see the similarities - except that they were cleaned up versions of a medieval city, and this was the reality.

She hadn't expected the smell. Even at Aberllong, where there had been open sewers running down the steep streets, the smell of rotting rubbish had been overlaid by the clean, salty smell of the sea. Here, the smell lingered in the nostrils, and she couldn't get rid of it. There were even one or two pigs, rooting along the open sewers, though they scattered up side alleys as the procession of wagons and horses passed by. There were birds, too. Branwen stared as one huge bird of prey launched itself off a nearby rooftop, clearly showing its forked tail. She grinned, and then waved frantically at Arian, who moved her horse closer to the wagon. "Hey, red kites!" she said.

"So?" Arian looked distinctly unimpressed.

"So - they're really rare back home," Branwen said. "There's a farm up near Rhyader where you can go and watch them being fed, and it's a real tourist attraction."

"People feed them? Deliberately? That's really crazy," Arian said. "They're just carrion feeders."

"And there's a lot for them to feed on here, isn't there?" Branwen said tartly. "Or don't you notice the smell?"

Arian put her nose in the air and dropped behind the wagon to join Gwalchmai Morgan. She pointedly ignored Branwen for the rest of the journey.

As the wagon came over the brow of the hill, Branwen stared. Tents of all shapes, sizes and colours were scattered across the plain below. Then she noticed the way that groups of tents were clustered around banners, and there were horse lines and chariot lines and rows of baggage wagons dividing the giant camp site into sections. On the edge of the camp, there were corrals filled with oxen and mules. Arian had drawn level with the wagon again, and Branwen said, in her direction; "It's like the Royal Welsh on show week - there must be thousands of people down there."

"Of course there are," Arian said. She began to point out the banners as they rode down the hill. "There's Lord Rhodri of Dinefor, and the white swan is Lady Ailesh of the Eastern Plains, and that blue banner is Cledwyn Cedd and there's Lord Cynan, come down from the north...." She grinned happily. "This is going to be great fun!"

Almost overwhelmed among the tent city was the Breninlow itself, a group of six long barrows and a handful of round barrows on the edge of a body of water which was too small to deserve the title of lake, but too big to be just a pond. Branwen could just make out the tiny white shapes that must be swans, swimming on it.

"That's where all the Ard Rithe and Rigatonas of Ytir have been buried for centuries," Arian said, "and learning the list is one of the more boring parts of studying to be a Harper - and, yes, I can do it, but don't ask me, all right?"

"So, it's sort of like Westminster Abbey, back home," Branwen said. She sighed, and gave Islay a quick cuddle. "I wish Dad was here - he could explain all this."

"Hey - I can explain all this," Arian protested, "and he'll be here tomorrow, probably."

"Hope so," Branwen said. "He really didn't want to go and see Brede - and I can't blame him. He was worried about what she'd do to him, you know."

"Brede wouldn't touch a Herald," Arian said doubtfully.

"That's what Dad said," Branwen said, "but I'm still worried."

Getting into the hillfort was almost a relief - it meant that it was too late to back out, so Mal had to get on with the job. Once they'd dismounted, and Mal had handed the banner to one of the servants, they were led towards the main building. Looking up, Mal could see scaffolding and a sloppily boarded up hole in the wall on the first floor. He could just about make out the remains of an oriole window swathed in tarpaulins. The physical scars of his and Branwen's escape still hadn't been repaired, then. He wondered if that might mean that Brede was short of money - and, if she was short of money, then she was almost certainly short of support.

Four shallow steps led up to a wide doorway, and they followed their guides inside. They were as much guards as guides, all of them fully armed and wary of the visitors - though they hadn't disarmed Sorcha and Nesta. There was a reception hall just ahead of them, and now it really was too late to worry about his ability to carry this off. He was also keenly aware that Sorcha was just waiting for him to make a mistake so that she could take over. She'd made that abundantly clear on the journey to Rath Mochnant, and he was damned if he was going to give her the satisfaction. He'd been good at this sort of thing, once, and there was no good reason why he shouldn't be good at it again.

They passed through the double doors and the honour guard peeled off to either side to let them through. Brede was waiting for them, flanked by her _yspridwch_ and three young courtiers Mal didn't recognise. The fact they were all young told him something, too. Brede had a lot less support than she needed to succeed, if she intended to ignore the meeting at Breninlow.

Mal strode across the hall to them and paused just slightly before he went down on one knee before Brede. _Rigatona, indeed,_ he thought. _Not in this life._

"Morwenna of Ravenscar greets you, Lady," he said out loud.

"She didn't send you to pass the time of day with me," Brede said sourly. "What does the old crow want?"

Mal shifted slightly as he looked up at her; she got the hint and allowed him to rise. On his feet, he was a little taller than her, which made him feel better. "I'm sure you're aware, my lady, that the priests have summoned all the Great Families to Breninlow. Morwenna and Lord Liam Tir Bran are on their way there now - and Lord Rhodri Ithel of Dinefor is already there, with the neutral lords. I understand Lady Ailesh of the Swan Clan has come up from the East as well...."

"So she sent you to tell me that she's got another candidate for the throne, did she?" Brede asked. "Why you, for Toutatis' sake? How far does she want to go to insult me?"

Mal hadn't considered that angle - that Brede would consider his presence an insult. He'd been too busy trying not to be terrified of her - or Manannan, who was keeping his own counsel at her right hand.

"Actually, I'm here with an invitation, my lady," he said. "Morwenna is trying to bring everyone involved in the succession crisis together, so a solution can be found."

"There's one easy solution," Brede interrupted. "Brychan and Ailesh should acknowledge me as the legal Heir."

"They can't do that if you're not there, my lady," Mal pointed out. "Nor is it certain that any of you have the support necessary to rule - "

"I have the _right_!" Brede spat. "There's nothing to discuss."

"The Law is on your side," Mal acknowledged, "But you must admit, you have not had universal acclaim, or you would be Rigatona in fact by now, ruling from Cader Ardry. My lady, if you want to claim your rights, you have to be there. General Brychan should be there by now, and the others are already gathered...."

"And I'm to go to them and beg for my rights?" Brede said.

"Or take command, as your uncle would have done," Mal suggested. Privately, he doubted if she would be able to. If she'd had half the force of character that Morgannwg had, she wouldn't be hiding away at Rath Mochnant like this - she'd have been at the gates of Cader Ardry with an army at her back.

One of the young men - probably one of her cousins, judging by the boar's head torc he wore - plucked at Brede's sleeve and she turned, scowling. "Brede, maybe we should consider this - if even Liam Tir Bran is there - you know he never leaves Aberllong...."

She brushed away his hand, and turned back to Mal. "I'll give you my answer later," she said. "For now, you are dismissed." She had turned to walk away before he had the chance to bow.

Once they had arrived at the area set aside for Liam Tir Bran and Morwenna, a campsite in the heart of the tent city, there was nothing much to do until the servants had pitched the tents. Arian left Branwen guarding her harp while she went off to find some friends in one of the other camps.

It was too busy, and Branwen was in the way, and she worried that Islay would get trampled on - the little dog was running around and trying to be friendly to people who obviously didn't have any time for her. Branwen slung the harp case over her shoulder and took Islay off to the banks of the little lake by the barrows. A couple of swans swam over, but moved off again when they saw she had nothing to eat. Islay barked at them excitedly and ran down to the very edge of the water.

"Shut up, horrible hound," Branwen said in English. "They're probably sacred birds or something and you'd come to a Terrible Doom if you tried to eat one."

Just up the bank, a couple of young men appeared to be trying to kill each other. At any rate, weapons were flashing in the sunshine, and there were solid thumps as they hit each other's shields. Then she saw the other people lounging on the grass and watching the fight, and realised that they probably weren't trying to kill each other after all - it just looked that way.

After a few minutes, one of the men stepped back and put up his sword, and one of the onlookers stood up and gathered his weapons together - shield and axe, in his case. Islay lolled against another onlooker, ecstatic at having her tummy tickled at exactly the right place. Branwen sat down on the grass beside them.

"Welcome, Harper," the man said.

"Oh," Branwen shrugged the strap of the harp case off her shoulder and laid it carefully on the grass. "No, I'm just minding this for - well, my adopted sister, I suppose."

"Reilly Finn," he said, "of the Red Eared Hound Clan."

"Branwen Petroc - of the Ravens," she said, simoultaneously thinking that he didn't look much like Buffy's boyfriend, and that she didn't really feel like a member of the Raven Clan, even though she was wearing one of their torcs.

One of the sparring partners thumped the other's shield so hard with his axe that she jumped. Grinning, they circled, and the one with the sword did something too fast for her to follow that resulted in the man with the axe falling over backwards.

"Esus! I wasn't expecting that!" said the man on the floor.

The man with the sword grinned, and raised his sword in salute. "We'll try it again when you're using a sword, shall we?" he said. He sheathed his sword, and swept off his helmet, revealing fair hair that was sticking to his forehead with sweat. "That's enough of that for now," he went on. "Who's the visitor?"

"The Ravens have arrived," Reilly said.

When Arian finally tracked Branwen down, she found her in the middle of a whole group of the Hound Clan, passing round a flask of wine. "Peace to all here," she said, finding a place to squat close to Branwen. "I'm Arian Malcolm."

"Ah, you're the Harper," Reilly said.

Arian took possession of her harp, and frowned at Branwen. "What have you been doing?"

Branwen giggled. "Just talking," she said.

"And getting drunk?" Arian asked.

Branwen beamed. One of the women in the group passed the wine flask to Arian. She took a short swig from it and passed it back. "We can't really stay," she said. "We need to be getting back to camp before all the best tents are taken."

Later that evening found Branwen in the small tent Arian had managed to sort out for them, clutching her head and wondering if it was better to sit up and feel dreadful, or lie down and feel dreadful. "I thought hangovers were supposed to start the next morning," she complained.

"Not when you start drinking in the early afternoon," Arian said tartly. "Honestly - you're two years older than me and you only had a couple of goblets, and you can't handle it? Drink some more water."

Branwen made a face. "After hearing what goes into it?" she asked.

"There's a sacred spring. It's all clean," Arian said.

Branwen reluctantly swallowed down about half of the tankard of water that Arian had brought for her. She tipped the rest into a bowl left over from dinner. Islay had made a good job of cleaning off any food that had been left, and now Branwen sat up cross legged and held the bowl in her lap.

"What are you doing?" Arian asked.

"Checking up on Dad, I hope," Branwen said. With a little concentration, she found she could reduce her headache down to the 'mildly annoying', rather than the 'oh-my-God-I'm-going-to-die' that she thought it had been going to turn into. "Trouble is, finding something personal of his." She fished in her belt pouch and came up with Islay's lead. The dog looked at her hopefully, and frowned as she put it in the bowl with the water. "This is the closest I'm going to get, I think," she said. "Can you give me a bit of light please?"

Branwen had expected Arian to find a lantern, or a candle, or something. She had almost forgotten that Arian shared Mal's Talent until Arian put her hands together - and when she drew them slowly apart there was a small hand fire floating there. Arian set it hovering over Branwen's head. For a long moment, Branwen didn't move. The water remained dark and murky, and she couldn't make any details out at all. "It's no good," she said at last. "I can't get through the protection spells - and now my head really does hurt. We're just going to have to hope for the best."

Branwen spent most of the next day sitting around in big tents while people she didn't know did a lot of talking. Morwenna seemed to think it was important that she was there, but there didn't seem to be anything specific she could do. During one of the breaks in proceedings, Arian took her to see the Stone of Destiny, which turned out to be a low lump of rock with a few spirals carved on it. It didn't look impressive at all - but there was a power there that brushed against Branwen's mind, something immeasurably old and deep.... Branwen did her best version of Vulcan shields, and backed away as fast as she could. Whatever the power there was, it wasn't meant for her.

She almost missed the big event of the day. She was sitting on cushions on the floor around Morwenna's high backed, carved chair, with some of Morwenna's attendants. Someone from General Brychan's staff was arguing an obscure point of law, and she was almost falling asleep, propping her chin in her hand. Then the lawyer stopped talking, and the marquee started to empty, and Branwen got to her feet in a daze wondering what was going on.

Brede was arriving in style, banners flying and household guard glittering in their finest parade armour. As the procession made its way down the hill, Branwen scanned the company for any sign of Mal.

Arian, who had not been invited to the deliberations in the marquee, wriggled through the crowd to stand beside Branwen. "Well, is he there?" she asked, impatiently.

"Too far away to see," Branwen said, squinting over the shoulders of the crowd in front of her.

A small group of riders broke away from the slow moving main procession, with all the baggage wagons, to trot through the camp to the big marquee. They were led by a man carrying a big square banner, a red field with the green dragon of Ytir coiled at its centre, wings held wide. Behind him rode Brede and Manannan, and half a dozen others, some with their own personal standard bearers. Bringing up the rear, with the grey and black raven banner of Morwenna, rode Mal with the two women at arms. Branwen gave a little whoop, and punched the air - and put her hand down again quickly when Arian turned to stare at her as if she'd gone mad.

Then all the riders were dismounting, and servants were running to hold the horses, and Mal and the two women came looking for Morwenna.

"There you are," Arian said. "I said he'd be all right, didn't I?"

Branwen turned away, half smiling and half shaking her head in disbelief. "It isn't that," she said. "It's just - well, he didn't look like _Dad._ "

"Of course it was Dad," Arian said.

"But, he looked so \- glamorous!" Branwen protested. "You know who he reminded me of? Ambassador Sarek - in Classic Trek. Did you see Journey to Babel? He looked - important. I'm not used to him looking important. Maybe he won't want to go home again - and then what will I do?"

He came to join them around Morwenna's campfire later that evening. Before he even looked in their direction, though, he got himself a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread from the cook at the fire pit.

He grinned wearily as he sat down beside them. "I'm absolutely ravenous," he said, around a mouthful of bread, "and my throat is sore from talking so much - and before you point it out, Branwen, yes, my wrists hurt - too much riding over the last few days."

Arian passed him a mug of beer. He took it and drank deeply, with a little flourish of a salute at both the girls. "Goddess, but they're a stubborn lot," he said. "We've been talking it through all afternoon and they still won't agree. All three of them want to be on top of the Stone of Destiny, and it's just not going to happen. Morwenna's ready to strangle Brede. She refuses to give up the Sword and the Torc, and the priests can't do anything without them."

He finished his bowl of stew and went up for a second helping. When he came back, Branwen would hardly look at him.

"So," he said carefully, "how was your day?"

Branwen huddled with her knees up, and when she spoke, she spoke in English. "You're enjoying all this, aren't you?" she asked.

Mal looked as if he was going to say something, and bit it off short. "You're not enjoying it?" he asked quietly - and now he was speaking in English too.

Branwen sighed. "Sort of, I suppose, but - oh, Dad, I want to go home, too."

"Then we'll just have to do some serious banging of heads together tomorrow, won't we?" Mal said.

The next morning, they arrived early at the big marquee where the talks were being held. Morwenna liked to arrive early, so she could watch the later arrivals and, Branwen suspected, make them feel uncomfortable for keeping her waiting. Even so, there were some people already inside. "Cynan's settling in early for the next round, I see," Mal said, dryly.

Chariot wheels rumbled on dry earth, and they turned to watch, letting the Raven contingent get ahead of them. A tall woman arrived, steadying herself on the light wickerwork side of the chariot as her charioteer drove the matched team of four ponies to the door of the marquee. She was festooned with gold, wearing necklaces as well as her torc; a big clasp on her right shoulder held her cloak, and there were broad bracelets up each arm. Her red hair fell to her waist in four thick plaits. She hopped down from the chariot and the charioteer walked the ponies to one side.

"She's showing off," Branwen said. "The Swan Lady's tents are only just up there."

A man arrived, also dripping with gold, from the Swan Clan's tents, and he had walked, with his attendants. His hair was darker than Ailesh's, and shorter, but he also wore it in four plaits. It seemed to be more than a fashion, and Branwen had noticed that the more traditional of the Great Families favoured the style more than the others. The man took what seemed to be his expected place half a pace behind Ailesh, and they went into the marquee together.

"Who was that, then?" Branwen asked. "I haven't seen him before."

"That would be Dervaloc, Ailesh's half brother," Mal said. "If I remember rightly, there's more to him than just being his sister's shadow."

"So tell me," Branwen said slowly. "Why is he glowing?"

"What?"

"You mean you didn't see it?" Branwen asked. "Dad, he looks like the Readybrek kid!"

"Are you absolutely certain?" Mal asked.

"Well, of course I am." Branwen was starting to feel annoyed now. She knew what she had seen.

Mal took her arm and pulled her after him towards the marqee. "Come and talk to Morwenna," he said.

They slipped in without anyone taking much notice of them, and Mal guided Branwen round the edge of the marquee to where Morwenna was sitting in state with her raven perched in his usual place on the back of her chair.

Mal came to a stop before the chair and bowed, nudging Branwen into a curtsey as he did so. "Your pardon, madam," he said. "Branwen, tell Lady Morwenna what you saw."

"What I can still see," Branwen said, craning her neck to find Dervaloc in the growing crowd. It was easier to see Ailesh, with that flaming red hair, and there he was, at her shoulder. "There he is, madam - Dervaloc. Can you see him glowing?"

Morwenna half stood up to look. "Harper, get him over here," she said.

"She means you, Dad," Branwen hissed, as Mal looked round blankly. He moved to the edge of the group around Ailesh, caught Dervaloc's attention, and led the Lord of the Eastern Plains over to Morwenna. Ailesh followed, and it was clear from her frown that she was not accustomed to following her brother around.

Dervaloc stopped before the chair and bowed. "How can I be of service, Lady Morwenna?" he asked.

Morwenna looked him up and down closely. She looked from him to Branwen, as Ailesh came up behind Dervaloc. On the other side of the chair, Brede appeared. She had just come in, and nobody had noticed her, so she was putting herself as close to whatever was happening as she could.

Branwen looked around at all these very important people, and suddenly wondered if she was making herself look very silly.

"Lady?" Dervaloc asked again.

Morwenna looked at Branwen. There was no chance to back out now.

"Lord Dervaloc," Branwen said, with as much respect as she could muster, "when you arrived here just now, I saw you glowing. You're still glowing. I don't know if anyone else can see it, and I don't know what it means, but I can see it."

Dervaloc raised one hand and looked at it closely. He raised an eyebrow. "I feel quite normal," he said.

A priest in long white robes pushed his way through the spectators from the other side of the marquee. As people noticed him, they made space for him to pass. Morwenna stood, leaning on her walking stick, and held out her hand for him to join her. "The young _yspridwch_ sees the Hero Light on him," she said. "Is it true?"

The man in white stepped up to Dervaloc. The tent was suddenly very quiet.

"It is true," he said.

"We must make the second test," Morwenna said.

Brede looked furious - but she didn't protest.

The priest led the way out of the marquee, Dervaloc beside him. The young man's expression was one of stunned surprise. The whole party headed for the little lake, at a slow pace to accommodate Morwenna. Brede stalked behind Morwenna, glowering - and General Brychan brought up the rear, looking thoughtful.

They spread out around the edge of the lake and there, Dervaloc's shock seemed to have worn off. Suddenly he seemed to know exactly what to do. With growing confidence, he waded out into the lake until the water lapped at his boot tops, and he waited. The shores of the lake were filling with spectators. It wasn't a silent crowd, but the hum of voices was quiet, expectant.

One of the swans began to swim towards Dervaloc. Branwen had been expecting that - they went for anyone who might have something to feed them. As the swan came closer, though, Dervaloc held out his arms to it - and it could see he had no food. Then another came, and another, until nine swans surrounded him. They came almost close enough to touch him and then all nine of them reared up on their tails at once, beating their great wings, and they cried out with a sound that was almost human.

A collective sigh went up around the lake, followed by a wild cheering that began among the Easterners on the far side of the lake and spread around the crowd in seconds.

As Dervaloc waded out of the lake, he was grabbed by half a dozen young men. The cheering changed to a steady chant: "Der-va-loc! Der-va-loc!" as he was borne shoulder high towards the Stone of Destiny.

Branwen caught a glimpse of Brede, pushing her way through the crowd that was sweeping her, and all of them, towards the Stone. Brede's face was like thunder, but there was nothing she could do - nothing that anyone could do now to stop Dervaloc being placed on the Stone of Destiny. Branwen was stunned at the speed of it - only moments, surely, since she had seen the glow around him, and now everyone must be able to see it. He blazed with golden light.

They reached the Stone. Dervaloc sprang up onto it. The crowd hushed in anticipation.

"If it should be silent now...." Mal murmured.

There was a rumbling that they felt in their bones, a deep bass note that thrummed in the air, and built and grew, and became a mighty wordless shout. Within that sound, Branwen could feel the power of the Stone - the power that she had backed away from, knowing it wasn't meant for her - channelling itself into Dervaloc, filling him with the power of the Land. The priest had been joined by others in white robes, making a thin cordon around the stone. They were singing something that made the hairs stand up on the back of Branwen's neck.

Then one of them started chanting. It sounded like gibberish to Branwen, but everyone was keeping very quiet now, and she could see Gwalchmai Morgan pushing his way to the front of the crowd to listen. "All the Harpers need to hear this," Mal said quietly. "It's the _geas._ "

"What geese?" Branwen asked.

Mal chuckled. "Taboos, then - there are things that Dervaloc has to do, and things he must never do. It's different for each Ard Ri."

"Oh." She listened for a minute, and then asked; "Why aren't you up there with the other Harpers?"

"Because I'm not really a Harper any more," he said.

What Branwen could hear wasn't making a lot of sense to her. When the priest fell silent, she asked; "Dad, what's all this to do with being king? I mean, why shouldn't he go round Caer where ever it was sunwise, or meet a yellow dog on Midsummer's Eve?"

Mal grinned. "It's not supposed to be logical," he said. "It's ritual - and some of it's prophesy. He's not like the Prime Minister, you know. Kingship is sacred, and if he breaks any of the _geas_ there will be disaster, no question."

On the edge of the crowd, voices were raised. Branwen stood on tiptoe to see Brede arguing with some of Dervaloc's men - and then she seemed to back down, and the men ran off towards her camp. Mal turned to look too, and nodded as if he'd been expecting it. "They'll be going to collect the Sword and the Torc," he said. "Brede won't be able to keep them to herself now."

Coming round one of the burial mounds, from the direction of the long house where the priests lived, another procession was nearing the Stone. Half a dozen men and women robed in white were leading the way, followed by two women in blue robes who were carrying a huge bronze cauldron between them. Behind them came a man in yellow robes, carrying a bronze spear.

"They're actual things, aren't they?" Branwen said suddenly. "I never thought they were real things in that oath - the Spear and the Cauldron and the Sword and the Stone, but that's what we were swearing on, wasn't it?"

"And they're ancient," Mal said, "from a time before Cold Iron - the Sword is bronze, too."

Then Branwen gasped, as she saw the end of the procession. A boy and a girl in white robes were leading a white unicorn, garlanded with flowers. "Oh, _Dad!_ You never said there were _unicorns!_ "

A space was opening up around the Stone, and Branwen and Mal both stepped back with the crowd. Dervaloc's men had returned, and one of them was handing a big bronze sword with a leaf shaped blade to a man in red robes. A woman in a green robe took possession of the gold torc they had brought.

Dervaloc jumped down from the Stone, and bent his neck to recieve the Torc. The Spear was placed in his left hand, and the Sword in his right, and the Cauldron was placed at his feet.

At a little distance, a _tanwch_ had conjured a fire - someone had brought wood for it - and now a _dwrwch_ was filling the Cauldron with water.

"You might not want to watch this next bit," Mal warned her.

"Why not?" Branwen was looking at the unicorn, standing quietly beside the Stone. Dervaloc passed the Spear back to the man in yellow robes, and took the Sword in both hands. He raised it high.

"He's not going to - oh, _no!_ "

"It's all right," Mal said. "That unicorn was born for this moment, and he was a good, willing sacrifice. No, don't turn round yet. There's rather a lot of blood. They're catching most of it in the Cauldron."

"What are they going to do next?" Branwen asked faintly. She felt slightly sick.

"Maybe you'd better go for a walk or something for a bit," Mal said. "They are going to butcher the unicorn, and cook part of it in the Cauldron. It'll take quite a long time, anyway."

"Couldn't they have done something symbolic, or something?" Branwen asked bitterly. "It was so beautiful, and now...."

"Um, that was symbolic," Mal said. "It's just that here, no-one is squeamish about blood." He was leading her to the back of the crowd - everyone else was intent on what was going on around the Stone. "You really mean to say you didn't notice when we were at Ravenscar?"

"Notice what?" Branwen asked uneasily.

"The way those cattle were taken round by the kitchens and never came out again," Mal said, starting to laugh. "Where did you think the meat came from, Tesco's?"

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick," she moaned. "Where can I go?"

"How about home?" Mal asked, sympathetically.

She stared at him, almost forgetting to feel sick. "Really?"

"Really."

"But I thought you'd want to stay. Don't you?"

"I thought about it," he admitted. "I used to be a good Harper. I could do something like that again, and enjoy it. Having Morwenna as our patron puts us right at the top level of things here. On the other hand, Luned was right when she said that I never had any ambition."

"Dad, please," Branwen stopped and bit her lip hard. She suddenly felt immensely selfish for wanting to go back to Hay, when he so obviously wanted to be in Ytir. "You don't have to do this for me. I can learn how to be a proper _yspridwch,_ and...."

"You know you don't belong here," he said. "I don't either, any more." He gave a half-hearted grin. "Much as I've enjoyed these last few days - and there were moments that terrified me, too - I find I miss being a bookseller, and I've got used to little luxuries like coffee, and Radio Four, and flush toilets, and all those stories...."

It would have been easy for Branwen to just accept that - but she wanted to be sure. If he was saying all that just to please her, and they went back, and he regretted it, she thought she'd feel guilty forever. She had to at least make an effort to get him to do what he wanted, and not what he thought was best for her. She reached up to finger her silver torc. "What about this?" she asked. "Didn't we both make promises? Won't Morwenna be annoyed?"

"She'll know where to find us, if she needs us." Mal was walking slowly now towards the Raven Clan encampment. "Get what you want to take, and I'll meet you in five minutes."

"You're really sure?" she asked anxiously. He nodded, and smiled, and held her hand, and she saw then that it was complicated, but he wouldn't regret leaving very much, and she needn't feel guilty.

Branwen didn't need any further prompting. She dived for her tent, and had her bag packed in thirty seconds flat.

When the tent flap opened, she was in the act of tightening the straps on her bag. "Just ready - oh."

Arian was standing in the doorway, hanging on to Islay's lead. "I thought I'd find you here," Arian said. "Going, then?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so," Branwen said. "Do you mind?"

Arian shrugged. "Dad going too?" she asked.

Branwen nodded.

"I'd only cramp your style," Mal said, behind her.

Arian swung round to face him, puzzled.

"I mean," Mal continued, translating for her, "that you could do well with Morwenna, and I'd just be in the way. I'd advise you to stay in touch with Simon, too, if you can. The harp is yours, by the way. I won't be asking for it back. And you know where I am, if you need me, too. I still have a Mirror." He looked hopeful, just for a moment. "Do you think you might want to get in touch with me?" he asked.

Arian looked away. "Dunno. Might. Might not." Then she burst out; "You just want an excuse to leave me behind again!"

"Listen," he said. "As long as I'm here, people will remember what I did, and you'll always have that taint of being the traitor's daughter. If I'm gone, they'll forget about that, and you'll be Arian Malcolm of Ravenscar, and being my daughter won't hold you back. I want the best for you," he added. "Please don't hate me."

She sniffed, and rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. Then she said, very clearly, and in English; "'Curse you and your inevitable betrayal'."

Branwen smiled. It was all going to be all right. Mal was smiling too - he recognised the quote from Firefly.

Arian threw her arms round him in a brief hug, then stepped back. She dropped the dog's lead, and Islay looked up at Mal, confused. He scooped the dog up into his arms.

They went together to a space between the tents, and Arian watched as Branwen opened up the Portal to take them home.

THE END

The story will continue in Quarter Day, when Arian gets her first solo mission as a Harper.

Lesley Arrowsmith works in a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye, where she's lived for twenty years. She knows quite a few eccentric book dealers - but none from another world, as far as she's aware. She trained as an archaeologist, specialising in the medieval period and she is also a historical re-enactor, with Drudion, a group of 13th century Welsh mercenaries.
