Gwydion
said, “I may not stay in our cantref.”
“The winds don’t notice
borders,” Math replied without a hint of surprise or disapproval. “Go, and
roam to your heart’s content. Learn what you can, and try to avoid trouble.”
Gwydion grinned. “If only
trouble would avoid me, it would be a lot easier.”
He left his Uncle’s tower and
went to his chambers to pack a small bag. He didn’t leave the caer, but
instead climbed to the top of a different tower and shape shifted to a raven.
Launching himself into the air, he circled Math’s tower twice before heading
north. He suspected that Math had some idea of what he was up to, but the old
man had not stopped him yet. Gwydion decided not to worry about it until he
had to.
He spent several days along
the northern border. Mona, an island known for fishing and priests, held no
animosity towards anyone, and Gwydion doubted that anything less than an
invasion would get a response from them. Clwyd was similar, although it was
home to the Prince of Cairnecht. It was a sleepy cantref known for its fat
swine; Gwydion couldn’t tell if the pigs took after the owners or vice versa.
Powys seemed to be a more
likely candidate. It shared the longest border with Gwynedd, and when he spent
some time in and around the cities in human form, he was constantly impressed
with the boasting that Powys was on the brink of taking over all of Cairnecht,
if not all of Glencairck. Out in the border caers, however, the story was much
different: the mining that made Powys rich had little influence among the
farmers, and they tended to trade freely and respectfully with their Gwynedd
neighbors. They even conducted cattle raids with good humor, often meeting
together to celebrate the victors, and getting the cattle back to the rightful
owners in the process.
Having satisfied himself that
no other reasonable option existed, he winged his way towards Dyfed.
He arrived in Dun Cofach the
next day. He dove close to the ground, trying to follow the path they had been
on that moonlit night. He found the ridge where the ambush had waited, and
alighted on the ground while shifting to human form.
In the daytime, the hilltop
looked gentle and unthreatening, but he remembered the rage and fury in
Deykin’s eyes, and had no doubt that he would raid Moryus’ land again. Even
so, it wasn’t enough to be attacked by a laird; Gwydion needed an army. He
walked back to Dun Cofach to meet the chieftain and ask a few questions.
Cofach was horrified to
discover the Tanist at his gate in the middle of winter, without even so much
as a horse for company. “Lord Gwydion!” he said, hustling him into the hall
and seating him beside the fire, “This is no weather for wandering!”
Gwydion smiled slyly. “It
suits me quite well.” The hall was packed with all the inhabitants of the dun,
and he saw sleeping pallets lined up against the wall. It reminded him of how
poor these people were; he had always had his own fireplace in his own room to
keep him warm during the winter.
Cofach shook his head. “Ah,
to be young and foolish again,” he muttered. “Does Laird Moryus know you’re
here?”
“I’m afraid not,” Gwydion.
“I came to see you.”
“Me? But I have little to
offer.”
“You live next to Dyfed every
day,” Gwydion said. “I want to know why they’re so different from all our
other neighbors.”
Cofach nodded. “You came to
pick my brains.”
“If you’ll allow it,” Gwydion
said. He touched the harp at his back. “I am not asking for a one-sided
trade.”
“A story for a story?” Cofach
asked.
“Doesn’t that sound fair?”
“For a dun in the hinterlands
in the middle of winter?” Cofach said with a laugh. “You give us a good
night’s entertainment, and we may slaughter our finest cow for you.”
“No need,” Gwydion said. “If
you know all I think you do, I’ll give you the birth and death of Finn
macCuhal. And no cows need to lose their lives for