Cry of Sorrow Read Online Free

Coranian warriors. Their efforts are not confined to any one area—but we have managed to confirm that their orders are given through the network of witches set up by the Master Bard and his daughter, the Ardewin. Orders are filtered through this network of Bards and Dewin to the chief band in each kingdom. Their headquarters are unknown, yet we have managed to pinpoint their general areas. For example, the band led by Prince Lludd, in Ederynion, is somewhere in the cantref of Arystli—probably in the great forest of Coed Ddu.”
    “If you know where they are, why can’t you find them?” Sledda sneered.
    “Have you ever, wyrce-jaga, attempted to find people in a forest that stretches for over ten leagues in each direction? Ever hunted for Bards who could call a warning from mind to mind without a sound? Ever hunted for people who had Dewin who could ‘see’ you coming from leagues away? But, of course, I am forgetting. You have hunted for such. For two years. And managed to find nothing.”
    Sledda shot Sigerric a venomous look with his one eye, but said nothing.
    “The chief band in Rheged,” Sigerric continued, “led by Owein PenMarch, appears to be centered quite close to the capital of Llwynarth, probably somewhere in Coed Addien. The band led by King Rhoram in Prydyn seems to be somewhere off the coast of cantref Aeron. The last band in Gwynedd, led by Queen Morrigan, is probably deep in the mountains of Eyri.”
    “But,” Eadwig asked, puzzled, “surely at one time or another you have caught members of these bands and questioned them. Someone must have told you something.”
    “We have caught some Cerddorian, Archbyshop. But it has yielded us nothing. Not one man or woman we have captured has spoken one word—not even their names. And not even under the kind of tortures the wyrce-jaga can devise.”
    “And yet, General, the attacks of these bands are mere pinpricks. The villages, the towns, the cities—all are in our hands,” Cathbad pointed out. “These attacks will die down, surely, as my people become reconciled to their lot.”
    Havgan noticed that something like a bitter smile was tugging at the corners of Aergol’s mouth in response to the Archdruid’s confident words.
    “You know these people, Archdruid,” Havgan said. “You know Prince Lludd and his Captain, Angharad. You know Owein and his Captain, Trystan. You know King Rhoram and his Captain, Achren. You know Queen Morrigan and her Captain, Cai. Through you, I know them also. And yet you say they will give up? They will not. Sigerric has done well to—as you say—hold the villages, the towns, and the cities. Done well to even be able to guess where the chiefs of these bands are hiding. Yet they cannot be found and killed. Not as long as the network set by the Master Bard and the Ardewin still functions.”
    “And that,” Sledda interrupted eagerly, “will not be for much longer.”
    “Which, Sledda, brings us to you. For two years I have heard you say this. And talk is all I have gotten from you.”
    “My Lord, the time we have been waiting for has come. I have captured a Bard. A Bard who is willing to tell all he knows!”
    “Why?” Aergol cut in curiously.
    “Because,” Sledda replied, his one eye gleaming with cruel satisfaction, “I hold his wife and baby daughter. And he will do anything to have them freed.”
    “Ah,” said Sigerric, the bitter lines around his mouth deepening. “And will you have them freed?”
    “Most unfortunately, General, I cannot. For his wife died of injuries sustained when she fought too strongly for her virtue.”
    “Against you.”
    Sledda smiled. “Against me.”
    “What woman wouldn’t?”
    Sledda’s smile faded. “Simply because you have failed in your task to locate the Cerddorian, Sigerric, there is no need to insult me.”
    “Oh, Sledda, there is always need—and so much cause—to insult you. And the baby girl? What did you do to her?”
    Sledda shrugged. “I did not have