Cymru - Chapter 15

Yes, I know, I haven't written any of this in ages. You'll all have to go back and re-read the rest, I expect. But Blossom told me to write more, so I did. Blame her.

Also, I've written this and read none of it back to myself, so it could be an offence to your eyes. Sorry, guys. I don't really care, though, because I'm hungry. Enjoy!

AWEN

As the guards dragged the would-be assassin into the room, whimpering and struggling in their arms, Awen sized him up. Her first guess as to his age looked about right; in fact, with time to see him up close and after he'd spent a night in one of the tiny cells in the corridor he looked younger than he had before, his darting eyes seeming almost bruised against his pale, sweating skin. Viciously deep talon wounds from Gwenhwyfar's attack tracked down his right temple almost to his neck, crusted over and staining the shoulder of his tunic with dried blood, apparently untreated. Fourteen, maybe? He looked about fourteen. Carefully, Awen kept her face impasssive, leaning against the wall in front of the table with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She said nothing.

"No..." He started to thrash as the guards, both easily twice his size, hauled him onto the table and began fastening the heavy iron manacles around his wrists. "No! Please! Don't do this!"

One of the guards leered at him unpleasantly. "Should've talked before, then, boy," he grinned, twisting the boy's ankle unnecessarily roughly into another manacle. Awen marked his face mentally as he smirked at his colleague. "I love it when they beg."

"Aye." The other guard flashed a row of yellow, broken teeth at the writhing form on the table. "And scream. Riders are good at making them scream."

The sad thing was, they'd actually done Awen a favour at that. By the time the guards left to return to the corridor outside, laughing and jostling each other approvingly, the boy actually was screaming, eyes wide with terror and heaving vainly at the chains. Adara casually made herself comfortable in an aging armchair at the edge of the room as they waited for him to calm down, Gwenhwyfar settling happily on the arm to groom herself. Awen didn't move, and kept her eyes trained on the boy. Performance; it was all about the performance now.

Finally, after several long minutes the boy's struggles abated, fading into a weakly exhausted pull on the shackles, defeated and despairing. His voice broke to a hoarse whisper, repeating a muted "No... no..." like a mantra as his eyes rolled wildly, looking everywhere but the wall where Awen stood. Gwenhwyfar shifted impatiently, and Awen took it as her cue to begin.

The key to torture, Awen had found, wasn't pain or precise anatomical knowledge or druidic healing ailities. Pain was too immediate a threat to the body, and far too often it caused a prisoner to just shout out what they thought you wanted to hear, including false confessions. Those who didn't break quickly never would either. After a while the body broke the mind, and the mind would crave pain as though it was pleasure. The only option after that, her tutor had told her long ago, was to simply dispose of the victim. They were a waste of time and resources after that.

Fear, however. Fear of pain was far more persuasive.

As such, it was a routine, an act, and one that Awen knew well. She stepped away from the wall finally, her movements controlled and deliberate. The boy stiffened, his eyes finally meeting Awen's. Carefully, she pulled off her gloves, allowing her right palm to turn outwards towards him.

It hadn't seemed possible he could go paler. He went completely still, eyes locked on Awen, the terror on his face palpable. He recognised the scar. He knew what it meant.

The heavy flight jacket was next, button by button before Awen slid it off, allowing the slash across her throat into full view above the lower neckline of the sleeveless undershirt. It had a second advantage also: her arms were now bare, adourned only with the wrist blade mechanisms strapped ominously to her forearms. The boy shook his head, a strange keening noise coming from his throat as Awen finally moved forward toward him, holding his gaze.

"Your name," she said. He trembled.

"Gareth," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Your city."

Gareth trembled again, but said nothing. Awen held up her right hand and his eyes flickered to it.

"You know what this is," she said softly. "I already owe you something for this. But because of you my own Deputy gave me this." She traced her fingertips across the wound on her neck, and Gareth closed his eyes. Awen noted it instantly, and suddenly several pieces fell into place.

"Your family, Gareth," she said quietly. "Are they in Casnewydd?"

His eyes flew open and he stared up at her, desperate terror on his face.

"Yes," he whispered. "They... I can't..."

Something icy settled between Awen's shoulder blades, and she realised with a sort of detached surprise that it was a furious, raging guilt. Her fault. It was all her fault; she could have stopped this so long ago, but she'd been so gods damned blind...

She glanced across at Adara who looked back with something akin to horror, anger shining in her blue eyes. Awen nodded and Adara rose, nearing them to start carefully cleaning the wound on Gareth's face. He shuddered but said nothing, terrified still.

"Gareth," Awen said firmly, "I'm a Union Rider. I outrank him. If you tell me the details I can save them."

"But he said – " Gareth's face twisted. "He said that wouldn't matter! He said if I told any Riders he'd know and he'd kill them and take Alis' business and money away and he'd make her into a concubine and I don't know what to do."

"He meant my Deputy," Awen said. "That's how he'd have known. Who in your family has he got?"

"My mother." Gareth was crying now, his body trembling and tears mingling with the sluggish trickle of blood from the cuts on his temple. "And my grandmother, and she's – she's so old, and he's got her in the cells. Please! You have to get them out..."

"Oh, I will," Awen promised darkly. "But first, you have to tell me everything, Gareth. I need to hear every detail. Can you do that?"

He nodded, gulping as he tried to stop crying.

"Lord Flyn," he said, voice cracking. "I saw him. Last - week, I think. He was by the border, and he'd been over it, and he was talking to a Saxon."

A Saxon?

"Are you sure it was a Saxon?" Awen asked, sharply. Gareth nodded, cringing as Adara applied the seaweed solution to his temple.

"Yes," Gareth whispered. "And they were talking in Saxon. I didn't understand; I told him then, at the time, I didn't understand them, but they wouldn't listen..."

"It's okay," Awen said softly. She sat on the table beside Gareth's trembling form. "It's all over now. What happened?"

"I saw them by the farm," Gareth said tightly. "We're - we're by Magwyr, north of the City. They were in the start of the woods, I only went closer to see if it was the boys from the village after the chickens again. They were talking in Saxon. I didn't realise it was Lord Flyn at first."

"Was it definitely Lord Flyn?" Awen asked gently. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Gareth whispered. "I tried to go when I realised, but... they saw me... so I ran..."

"I'll bet," Awen said. She squeezed the boy's wrist. "You're a good runner, I thought so yesterday." It would be the only thing that had saved his life, too. He must have escaped that initial encounter or Lord Flyn would have simply killed him. Gareth gave a weak, humourless smile.

"I won the races on Calan Mai," he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. Adara had finished cleaning the wound on the other side and was starting on stitching the skin together. Gareth winced as she did.

"Sorry," Adara murmured. "This'll sting for a while."

"What happened next, Gareth?" Awen asked. He shuddered.

"I got away," Gareth said, his voice strained, "into the village. I thought they wouldn't follow. But then, the next day, the guards came. And a Rider. They took my Mam, and my grandmother; they said they'd been talking to Saxons. They said I could go and speak to Lord Flyn on their behalf, as a witness..."

He shuddered, making the chains clink together. Gwenhwyfar ruffled her feathers on Adara's shoulder.

"I went," Gareth continued. "I said they couldn't have talked to Saxons, because we don't understand Saxon, none of us do, but he wouldn't listen. He said they were still a risk. So I asked him what I could do to save them and he said - he said if I worked for him I could work off their sentence, and... and he'd leave Alis alone..."

"Your sister?" Awen guessed. Gareth nodded. His eyes were still tear-glazed and unfocused, looking up at the ceiling above them.

"She's pregnant," he murmured. "I couldn't... He - he told me to go to Aberystwyth, and... and then wait. And then I did, and then the Rider came back..."

"Can you describe that Rider, Gareth?" Awen asked. She was surprised at how calm she managed to sound; internally her heart was beating so hard she could hear the blood roaring in her ears.

"His hair was strange," Gareth said, and frowned. "Very strange, actually, like a quiff."

"Was he oily?" Adara chimed in. Awen gave her a Look.

"Yes," Gareth said, shivering again. "Not tall. His beads were blue. And he talked weirdly. And he came yesterday. I was with the bards, and he told us all, he said - that they had to get me in, and I had to - I had to kill the - Sovereign..."

"It's okay," Awen said again, as gently as she could while the sobbing racked Gareth's body, forcing Adara to abandon her ministrations for a minute. "It's over now. Did he tell you why you had to kill the Sovereign, Gareth?"

"He said..." Gareth paused, gulping at the air. "He said he was a - an influence... per - perv - "

"Pervasive," Awen supplied, her mind racing. Really? Flyn had considered Lord Gwilym to be strongly influential? Having met the man Awen wasn't overly surprised at the idea; clearly given even another year the people of Aberystwyth were going to be wildly in love with Lord Gwilym, and he was definitely charming. But he certainly wasn't confident enough to be spreading any sort of influence over anyone just yet, and Awen was fairly certain Flyn and Gwilym had, to date, met once.

"Yes," Gareth whispered. "He said he had to be stopped now, before everyone paid the price. He said he would corrupt everyone. I don't... I didn't want to kill him..."

"I know," Awen said quietly, squeezing his wrist again. Few people did want to kill, when faced with their victim; she knew that from experience.

"If he was just going to have Lord Gwilym killed, why send you to talk to him first?" Adara asked quietly, glancing across. Awen shook her head.

"I have no idea," she said frankly. "Unless that was just a stalling tactic. Maybe Owain was meant to appraise the situation and activate Gareth here if he saw fit."

"Could be," Adara sighed. She finished the wound on Gareth's next, tied off the thread and stood, stretching. "I'll go and find out what I can about getting Gareth somewhere protected. Might be best if we take him to the Union."

"Probably," Awen agreed absently. Something still wasn't right, though. Something didn't add up. "Who did you say told you to come to Aberystwyth, Gareth?"

"Lord Flyn," Gareth whispered. He looked exhausted, like a drowning man finally pulled ashore. "He didn't say why, just that I was to come here and wait. The Rider came then."

"Okay," Awen said softly; but it wasn't. Nothing was okay now. And something was very wrong.