Cymru - Chapter 27

AERONA

One of Aerona's favourite things to do was to look outside the Union windows. The world below was a sea of cloud, thick and drifting, broken only by the deep viridian peaks of the mountains that stood like islands in an ocean all around them. She loved being above the clouds. It was like a calling, a natural blood reaction to altitude of being a Rider; but more than that, the view like this looked like home, the mountains comfortingly reminiscent of the Archipelago.

She opened the window as far as she could and leaned out on the stone. It had been gently warmed by the rising sun, her window facing east as it did, and it felt strangely comfortable on her elbows and forearms as she gazed out towards the border. Somewhere in that direction, unseen beneath the clouds and distance, lay Saxonia. Somewhere out there, over the mountains and to the left a bit was Wrecsam; Aerona wondered how it was this morning, whether it was peacefully waking to the sunrise or beseiged by another raid, the Riders slowed by the late warnings. Wearily, she sighed. Sometimes, she reflected, she did not have a happy job.

She stayed for a minute or two, just breathing in the metallic smell of morning after the rainstorm and basking in the strengthening sunlight, and then pushed reluctantly away. The Council would have seen her report by now; probably the entire High Council, given the severity of the situation. It was anyone's guess what would come next. Aerona wasn't necessarily the best choice to go chasing this up, since her usual activities only extended as far as stealing paperwork, but it was possible they'd want to involve as few people as they could. Otherwise... back to Tregwylan, she supposed.

A knock at the door made her freeze cautiously, but Rhydian was unlikely to have knocked if he wanted to attack, so Aerona opened it. A Messenger Rider stood outside, a short girl with dark hair and grey eyes, with the kind of weary expression that suggested she'd been flying very early that morning. Aerona beamed at her.

"Hello!" she said cheerily, Saluting. "You look tired! Do you want some tea?"

"No, thank you." The girl smiled, Saluting back. "But cheers for the offer. Most people don't."

Archipelago, Aerona thought automatically. Messengers weren't sworn to Cities, but they were stationed between two or three; accent was generally the only clue to telling where. This one, to Aerona's ear, sounded northern Archipelago.

"A few letters for you, Rider," it said now, handing them over. "You're popular! Could you sign?"

"Of course!" Aerona hastily slid the letters onto the dresser beside the door and signed the proffered parchment while the Messenger pulled a mini saftey lamp off her belt and opened it to insert a wax stick. By the time Aerona handed the parchment back the wax was ready; a small mass was dropped next to the signiture, and Aerona pressed a bead into it. The Messenger nodded, satisfied.

"Thank you very much!" she smiled, tiredly. "And now I'm going to bed. Enjoy your letters."

"I'm sure I will," Aerona grinned, and turned to them as she closed the door.

They were two seperate letters, from Awen and Dylan. Aerona locked the door carefully - a force of habit, she was hardly unsafe in the Union - and pulled out the one from Awen. She laid it face-down on the dresser-top, found a pencil in the top drawer, held it so the lead was almost lying on its side and meticulously shaded in the entire back of the letter.

It was a standard intelligencer trick. The message in ink on the front was simple and friendly, a suggestion for songs that Aerona had allegedly wanted to teach the children; the sort of thing a bard might well write a tutor. The genuine message had been written on another piece of paper over the top of this one, leaving its legacy in the faint indentations appearing under Aerona's pencil. Considerately, Awen had even written it backwards onto the front, so that it was more legible by the time Aerona was finished. She smiled. You had to like someone like that. Even while imparting top secret world-changing information she looked to see if she could make your life slightly easier.

Although it also went a long way to explaining some things about Awen. Not for the first time, Aerona was glad that she wasn't an Alpha Wingleader.

Gareth's mother is arriving tonight, ought to be at the Union by sunrise; keyword is 'mahogany'. Her name is Iona. Injuries severe, may not survive. Grandmother dead. Both confessed to collusion under Owain.

It was expected, but even so... Aerona paused in her reading for a minute, lowering the letter and staring blankly at the fire. Really it was a miracle Iona was even alive, she supposed. She wondered how soon she could reunite the woman with Gareth, and then wondered how he'd take it all. Well, it was a bridge to cross when they got there.

She looked back at the letter, and her jaw dropped. What Awen had written was a full report, in shorthand, of meeting a group of Saxons - actual, genuine Saxons - living in Casnewydd who had seen their former leader meeting both Owain and Flyn. Aerona stared. Owain? Owain had been talking to Saxons? What the hell for? She wished Awen had included some sort of subjectivity in the report, but it was professionally cold, and devoid of opinion.

Her mind reeling, Aerona pulled Dylan's letter out of its envelope.

Hey loser.

Madog tells me I need to socialise more, so I'm writing you a letter like normal people do. He tells me I need to make more friends. Will you be my friend, Aerona?I give you cash money and you be my friend.

Madog is also telling me to say sorry for calling you a loser. He wants me to cross it out, but then the letter would look untidy, so he says I have to say sorry.

Sorry.

From Dylan.

P.S. Your Sovereign isn't as good as my Sovereign. Ha ha.

P.P.S. Sorry.

Aerona giggled as she liberally applied the pencil to the back. It was almost tempting to write him a letter back solemnly accepting his friendship with absolutely no covert information, but she decided against it. It was a good format to save for when she needed it.

Dylan's secret message was the right way around, but he'd written it onto the back, meaning it was harder to read because the indentations were sunken rather than raised. Fortunately it was a shorter message than Awen's, so Aerona didn't have to study it for as long.

Have you noticed the loophole in the Tregwylan trade agreement? She's selling weapons to Saxonia. Phoenician trade logs and shipping manifests will prove it. Cheers.

No, Aerona thought. She hadn't noticed. But it was perfect; a genuinely punishable and proveable crime that could therefore provide a foundation for the many others they couldn't quite prove. She grinned at the letter for a second, and then the smile faded as she looked at the other one, Awen's neatly and eloquently short-handed report.

'Mahogany.'

She got dressed.

**********

Gareth was being kept on one of the lower levels, through the labyrinthine passages that were almost all the security required even without the Guard Riders at almost every corner and the trick doors. Once Aerona reached him she found he'd been given what was actually a very comfortable room; there was a bed in the corner next to a small chest of drawers, with a desk and a chair against the wall opposite and a battered armchair to one side that Gareth was curled up in. As Aerona entered he looked up, a desperate hope evident on his face. She sighed, and closed the door.

"Hello Gareth," she smiled warmly. He stood up quickly, wringing his hands.

"Rider," he said nervously. "Have you heard anything? About Mam? And -?"

"Good news and bad news," Aerona said and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently back into the chair. "Sit, and listen."

She knelt on the floor in front of him as he sat tensely on the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes searching her face with trepidation.

"Leader Awen found your mother and grandmother," Aerona said, her voice grave. "But there are problems. Firstly, your grandmother didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Gareth's hand flew to his mouth and he froze, eyes wide. Aerona stroked his other hand on the arm of the chair and plunged on.

"Now, your mother was still alive yesterday when Leader Awen found her, and she was brought here in the early hours of this morning. Right now she's in the medical centre under heavy guard, but..."

She looked into Gareth's immobile face.

"It's going to be touch and go if she pulls through," Aerona told him softly. "I can take you to see her if you want?"

"Please," Gareth whispered, his voice cracking slightly on the word. He lowered his hand from his mouth abruptly and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them he looked steadier. "Please," he repeated more strongly. "I'd like that."

"Okay." Aerona stood, pulling him up with her. "She's in a bad way, mind. Be prepared."

"I will," he nodded, a weak determination starting to seep into his features. Aerona smiled encouragingly at him.

"Good!" she said. "Now; we'll put you into her rooms with her while she recovers, you'll be just as safe there as here. Since you're both top security and no one is really meant to know you're here I'm going to pile your arms high with books and you need to look like a harrassed scribe or clerk, okay? Follow behind me or next to me, as though you're working with me and just focusing on keeping up. Okay?"

"Okay." Gareth hugged himself reflexively, and then offered a tiny smile. "It shouldn't be too hard, Rider. I am basically just focusing on keeping up."

"That's the spirit!" Aerona told him brightly. "Now; how much can you carry?"

A fair bit, as it turned out, which was handy, and actually Gareth did a good job at playing in a role, although he'd already proven that in Aberystwyth in more macabre fashion. They moved through the Union corridors neatly, Aerona talking animatedly enough to look as though she were enthusiastic about a project but not enough to draw undue attention, while saying the most boring sentences she could think of to discourage listeners. No one spared them a second glance as they moved to the other side of the Union and down two levels. This area was more the domain of the druids and it showed; there were shrines every ten feet set into the walls, one to every god known to Cymru, and more bunches of plants and things hanging from the ceiling. The large, arched doors of the medical centre soon reared up before them, a pair of Guard Riders leaning easily outside them. One, a thickly-built man in his forties with his beads prominently on show, threw her a casual Salute as she arrived. Aerona checked the wires, and confirmed Secret Club Membership.

"Morning, Rider!" he grinned as she Saluted back. "And where might you be going on a fine day like today?"

"To visit ill people and bring them joy with my trusty assistant here," Aerona said cheerfully, pulling out her all-areas pass. The Guard laughed as he took it. "Well, perhaps not. We need to double-check a few interrogation reports, one in particular."

"Rather you than me," the Guard grimaced. "Nothing too... in-depth, I hope?"

"Fortunately not," Aerona smiled. "Just a few small details look to be out, that's all. You know; was the cloak red or blue? Was the chair oak or mahogany? That sort of thing."

The Guard gave absolutely no indication whatsoever of understanding the hidden meaning. He handed her back the pass and smiled.

"That's alright, then," he said with feeling. "I hate going into that part. Speaking of which; much though it's my turn..."

"Yes, it is," his friend grinned, a woman with dark hair who looked to be about the same age. "And no, I hate it in there too, so go on. Sorry Rider," she added to Aerona. "Nothing personal."

"Oh, I understand," Aerona giggled as the first Guard sighed theatrically and opened the door. "I'd have done the same... Come on, Gareth."

Immediately inside the doors was the ambulatory, so they missed the main body of the medical centre itself as the Guard led them sideways along it, right to the end and through a door that took them to another corridor. More doors branched off it, each housing a small room with a scrubbed stone floor; these were the treatment rooms, where the medics worked ahead of the druids. At the end was another set of Guard Riders who simply let them through at their escort's nod, and they found themselves going down three steps into another corridor, this one almost entirely undecorated. These were the interrogation cells for the prisoners who would need serious medical attention during questioning. Aerona instinctively loathed them.

They were empty except for one, right at the end and around a corner slightly. As they approached a grim-looking druid stepped out carefully, the cheerful ginger of her hair contrasting beautifully with the woad-blue of her robes. She was surprisingly young, Aerona noted as she looked up at them; around late twenties, certainly no older. Her expression darkened as she saw them approach, and she fixed the Guard with a lancing stare.

"And exactly what was doing that meant to achieve?" she spat, stepping forward - rather boldly, Aerona felt - into his personal space. Her accent was west Southlander somewhere. "Precisely where is your guarentee it wasn't a false confession? What -?"

"I didn't do it, Derwydd," the Guard said wearily, holding up his hands. "All I know is what I've told you. This is Haf," he added to Aerona. "She's been briefed on the situation, but she bites, so mind out. Doesn't like torture."

"Trust me, nor do I," Aerona shuddered. "That won't be an issue."

Abruptly the druid stepped forward and, before Aerona could leap back or do anything, had plucked her beads in one hand and studied them. Aerona froze.

"Hmm," she said critically, eyeing the wiring. "Woodscraft. Good for you," and she dropped the beads again, turning to Gareth as though she hadn't just violated a societal norm.

"Also she has no understanding of personal space," the Guard added. "It's a mercy she hasn't met an active Rider yet. Anyway; I need to get back. Good luck."

"Thank you." Aerona returned his Salute, watched him leave and then turned back to Haf. She had hold of Gareth's chin over the stack of books and was examining his face in minute detail, while he stared at her in awe.

"You're her son, then, clearly," Haf said, and sighed, dropping her hand. The hard, slate-blue eyes softened slightly. "I won't lie. She's not well. Nine and a half hours she took, and then a good five days in a hole in the ground with no medical attention. And it's not pretty."

"But she's alive?" Gareth asked hopefully. Haf nodded shortly.

"For the now," she said, and Gareth smiled.

"Then she'll be fine," he said quietly. Haf gave him a narrow look.

"Just maybe," she said. "Strong woman. Come on in," and she turned and led the way into the room, Gareth close on her heels. Aerona followed in some trepidation.

There was a fake cell behind the door, which Haf led them straight through to the one set in the wall opposite. Clearly, she was one of the very few non-Rider Intelligencers that the Union employed; there were only around twenty or thirty in the entire country, and they only used the best, which suggested Haf had prodigal talent in healing. It was sort of exciting, actually, but Aerona was ignoring that reaction. It was a Serious Situation. This was not time for games.

The door revealed, finally, the room Iona had been given to heal. The bed was right in the middle where healers or medics could get to it from either side, and had a proper sprung mattress rather than a stuffed one. A cabinet beside it held a jug of water and a glass with a small selection of books beneath, and a large window to their right offered a beautiful view of Eryri, easily seen from the bed. A sort of table on wheels that could be pulled over the bed to serve as a desk or tray stood against a wall.

And in the bed lay Iona.

It was almost impossible to tell her age, since the abuse had aged her so, but she was probably somewhere between forty and sixty-five; given that she'd successfully produced a fourteen-year-old son, though, she couldn't really have been much more than fifty. Her torso was propped up on a board covered with pillows at a forty-five degree angle, the blankets around her armpits, giving them full view of her heavily plastered and bandaged arms lying awkwardly at her sides and her lined, drawn face, eyes closed, sunken and pale against the pillows. The bandages had been carefully wound around her head too - supporting the jaw, if Aerona was any judge. Gareth froze, staring at her, his hands clamped around the books going suddenly white at the knuckles. Haf stepped over to the bed, her manner suddenly surprisingly gentle and compassionate.

"Iona?" she said, her voice soft. "Your son is here."

Iona's eyes flew open, one filled with blood around the iris, and she stared at Gareth.

"Gareth?" she said, voice tight with pain, and then smiled, the expression heart-breaking. "Well well," she said, more or less to herself. "She wasn't lying, then. Here you are, boy. Put those books down and stop standing there, lad, you're in the way."

"Mam," Gareth whispered. He stared for a second more, then very carefully placed the entire stack on the floor and knelt beside the bed, his fingers hesitantly touching her left arm above the elbow. It seemed to be the only unbandaged place. "I thought you were dead, I... does it hurt?"

"Of course it does," Iona said, exasperated. "I'll never use my right arm again, and I'm told I only don't have gangrene because of the maggots. And I have a broken jaw and ribs, so it hurts to breathe. But. I'm alive."

"Half the battle won, that, in my experience," Haf smiled. "We'll arrange for Gareth to stay here, then, and give you some time together. Rider?"

"Certainly." Aerona gave the pair by the bed an encouraging smile and turned to follow Haf, who was already at the door.

"Rider?" She glanced back at Gareth, who was staring at her now, his expression intense. "Thank you," he said, quietly. "I... thank you."

"You're welcome," Aerona said softly, and followed Haf out.

Who was waiting for her.

"Well?" she demanded once the door was closed. "Who did it? That woman has no fingers on her right hand anymore, and that is not the least of her injuries."

"Oh gods." Aerona closed her eyes in horror. "Please don't give me a list. Owain Masarnen, the Deputy at Casnewydd."

"The ex-Deputy," Haf nodded. "Well, that makes sense. I hope he's being hunted down, because I'd rather like to be one of the people taking a swing at him while someone holds him down."

"You'll be in a very long line," Aerona said darkly. "You wouldn't believe what else he's been doing."

She looked at the closed door briefly and sighed, running a hand through her hair. This long away from her Wing it was anyone's guess how presentable she looked. Well, hers, anyway. Everyone else could just see.

"What are her chances?" Aerona asked quietly. "Really?"

"Slim." Haf shrugged. "I've seen worse pull through, mind, but... she'll never be the same again. That right arm?" Haf shook her head, her eyes like granite. "No fingers, three bones broken in the hand, both bones broken in the wrist, one in two places, the other in five, dislocated elbow, upper arm fracture and a dislocated shoulder that can't be relocated until the collar bone mends. And that's not including the burns."

"Right," Aerona said carefully. "You know how I asked you not to give me a list?"

"I'm not, either." Haf crossed her arms in front of her chest, chin high. "Because, you see, the list would include what he did to the rest of her too. I'm mentioning this lot because there's a good chance we'll have to amputate. If we don't, even if she pulls through, she'll be in constant pain for the rest of her life. If we do... well, it's an amputation. It diminishes the chance of survival somewhat."

"How is she aside from the physical injuries?" Aerona asked heavily. Haf smiled.

"Bitchy and resistant," she said. "She's the Union's loss. Would have made a fantastic Rider. Must be something about Casnewydd, I think; breeds them strong."

Aerona thought of Owain, and Awen's neutrally written report, and Adara's cold-burning fire, and Flyn's ambition.

"Yes," she said. "You may be right."

**********

It was mid morning by the time Aerona was finally allowed into the Council Chambers. She generally hated going in; the architect of the Chambers had known, with great wisdom and cunning, that the true purpose of a room used by the organisation that ran the country for officially speaking to the public was intimidating said public and leaving them in no doubt as to who held the power in said room. It was a large room, with a domed glass roof that gave way down the walls to carved oaken pillars disguised as trees in a similar way to the central column of the Spiral Stairs, the grain of the wood inlaid with gilt and enamel, covering deep red walls. Metalwork embellishments of the kind of quality that would have made their Brythonic ancestors weep a happy tear adorned the room periodically. Tiered oaken seating, enough to seat all thirty members of the Low Council, was built along the walls either side of the marble floor, giving the Councillors a good view of whoever was trembling in awe below them. To one side sat an impressive table for any visitors who had been invited to actually sit and discuss things, currently filled with - Aerona bowed carefully - the Archdruids of the Urdd in full white robes. And in front of her...

In front of her, on the raised dais behind a table so large and long it was basically a counter, sat the ten High Councillors. It seemed they'd taken Aerona's findings Very Seriously Indeed. It wasn't common to convene all members of both Councils.

Aerona smiled as brightly as she could, Saluted, and thought of a few choice words for Rhydian. He smiled at her serenely as he stood.

"Rider Aerona," he greeted cordially, Saluting back. "Thank you for coming. Can you confirm that this list is indeed the one you gave me last night?"

He handed down a sheet of paper, which was given to a clerk, who gave it to Aerona. She scanned it, and the by-now familiar names of druids presented themselves for her consideration.

"Yes, Councillor," she said, handing it back to the clerk. Rhydian nodded.

"Excellent," he said, merrily. "Well, the other Councillors have a few questions -"

"Indeed," Eifion said sharply, and Aerona's heart didn't so much sink as plunge.

He was, among Riders, probably the most hated man in the country, beaten only by Saxons and maybe in the last few hours Owain. It was all part of the education system; Riders were trained, not raised. It was intensive training, done for every second of childhood and a large portion of adulthood and very often strict, but Riders required a very special kind of training. The aim wasn't to produce a machine, after all, because machines killed indiscriminately, and humans didn't work that way safely. Sooner or later a human like that would put themselves above the people they were meant to be protecting, or demand recognition. Riders were meant to see their service as a privilege, an honour. They were meant to be as compassionate as a healer towards Cymru, only becoming machines against Cymric threats.

Which meant that Rider training, particularly in childhood, was a very complicated system of rewards and punishments, conditioning them into what they were supposed to be. The rewards were lovely. Aerona's role was to provide them.

But, therefore, the punishments had to be severe, and that had been - and frequently still was - Councillor Eifion's job.

He leaned forward now on his withering elbows, long, thin hair greyed to white swinging forward around his sharply pointed and lined chin, and as Aerona met his pale blue eyes something inside her mind remembered, and tried frantically to hide.

"So," he began, his reedy voice like a whip. "You were in the Archives last night, this is correct?"

"Yes, Councillor," Aerona said, and mentally congratulated herself. Her voice was completely steady.

"For what?" Eifion queried. Automatically, Aerona found herself holding her hands behind her back to hide them.

"I was hoping to find something that could give me an idea of where Owain Masarnen might be, Councillor," she said. His chin thrust upwards slightly, mouth set in its permanently turned-down curve.

"Is that so?" he said, eyes boring into her. "You considered this your responsibility, did you?"

"Yes Councillor," she heard herself saying calmly back. "I consider it the responsibility of every Rider in this country, much less every Intelligencer, and I felt it would be best to make a start as soon as possible. Since I don't have any pressing responsibilities before the Archwiliad -"

"Very well." Eifion's chin thrust again, just fractionally. "Were you successful?"

"Maybe." Aerona glanced at Rhydian briefly, who picked up and scanned another piece of paper. "After Owain came back down that mountain he was certified sound by Twm ap Llywelyn, by now a white-rank druid in Cwmbrân. After his fight with Leader Awen in Aberystwyth Owain had several injuries, not least of which was a partially-severed finger. He'd have needed to go somewhere to get them seen to."

"Twm ap Llywelyn is not a healer," Eifion said, just the barest edge of contempt in his voice, but fortunately that was the moment Councillor Gwenllian chose to speak.

Gwenllian was very slightly mental. She was a Northlander of about fifty, although like a lot of Riders she'd aged youthfully. In her case it was partly helped by the fact that she used the same red hair dye that Lady Gwenda used, but in streaks with a black that made her look like one of her parents had been a particularly alternative tiger, and hid any grey hair she might have had. She'd also had the long redundant tattoos refreshed and painted up her neck and over her jaw, just visible along her hairline. If she hadn't been a Rider Aerona would almost have thought she'd been aiming for a particular look; as it was, it spoke volumes about her popularity amongst her former Wing.

"But," she said now, giving Councillor Eifion a pointed look, "I imagine that it occured to Rider Aerona, much as it has occured to me, that Twm ap Llywelyn is probably aquainted with a healer, what with his profession being druidic. He may well have known who to call in."

"Sharp thinking," Rhydian said placidly. "Could we return to topic, Councillors?"

"What made you notice the druids, Rider?" Gwenllian asked. Aerona gratefully addressed her, trying not to notice Eifion's eyes boring into her.

"Owain's trip up that mountain, actually," she said. "I wouldn't have thought too much of it, but I think it's relatively clear now that Owain Masarnen isn't..."

"A poet," Rhydian smiled wryly, and someone sniggered among the Low Council. "Agreed. Go on."

"I knew he'd been cleared though, which made no sense," Aerona continued, fighting the sudden urge to giggle. "And then I found the entry from Cas-Gwent, about the children there sharing the same dream -"

"Paper Delta," Councillor Dyfan said further down the table, and there was a general rustling of paper.

"It references another account I found," Aerona explained. "Of Leader Awen being injured in Cas-Gwent for an unnamed child the same age as the one killed -"

"Hang on, that's here somewhere," Dyfan muttered. "Paper Epsilon, everyone."

"The dialogue matched," Aerona concluded. If they had both accounts they'd clearly read them, she didn't need to recount it.

"And this list of names is?" Eifion asked sharply, holding it up between an aged thumb and forefinger.

"The names of any druids I could find who have an Old Family connection, or any other link to Casnewydd or Lord Flyn," Aerona said clearly. The urge to giggle had evaporated as quickly as it had come under the stony blue gaze. "Also, I followed the chain from Twm ap Llywelyn upwards for who certified whom as sound, and found there's a circle of six of them, all doing the certifications for each other. Then I cross-referenced it all with the druids performing the border warnings up in Wrecsam for the past six months, since they started coming late. The names in red are what I got."

There was a stirring among the tiers to Aerona's left, and Low Councillor Hefin raised his hand. He was the newest Councillor, Aerona knew; until a month ago he'd been the Beta Wingleader in Aberdaron before his Wing's retirement, and he'd known about Intelligencers only since his first day as a Councillor, in his very first briefing. Politics had turned out to be far more complicated for him than he'd thought.

"How long have we known about the border warnings being delayed?" he asked now, addressing it as a general question to the room. Rhydian, lifelong Intelligencer and head of the network, leaned forward.

"The first reports of it came around four months back," he said neutrally. "But sporadically, and it's not unheard of, so we didn't think much of it. It's only been obvious in the past couple of weeks."

"Which we think is the fault of Lord Flyn," Hefin said, staring at one of the papers in his hand.

"We think there may be a connection," Rhydian said casually. "Nothing more at this stage. He may not even be aware of it."

"Of course he is," Gwenllian muttered, not quite quietly enough for no one to hear. "The man's a tool."

"There's no evidence," Rhydian pointed out reasonably, and Eifion sniffed, a noise that made Aerona's heart leap.

"Nor will there be," he said poisonously. "Since we're trusting the aquisition of evidence to a network headed by a woman who didn't spot her own Deputy's insanity."

"A subject for another time," Rhydian said, pulling out the list of names in a business-like manner, but Eifion clearly wasn't finished. He could smell the blood, the cynical, normally silent part of Aerona's mind said clinically. He'd seen a weakness in a big prize.

"I disagree," he said, looking around at the assembled Councillors imperiously. "It seems to me that we need facts from Casnewydd right now, and there's no guarentee we'll get them. The Archwiliad is -"

"With respect, High Councillor," a voice said, and surprisingly enough it was Hefin. "I may still know very little about the role of Intelligencers, but it strikes me as an incredibly high-pressure job. When combined with that of Alpha Wingleader -"

"Councillors," Rhydian repeated, and this time there was a solid edge to his voice. "This is a matter for another time. For now I think it's probably safe to say that Owain Masarnen is hardly going to go rogue again in the next few days, so we can assume Leader Awen will be operating at peak efficiency. Now let us move on."

He looked to the side to the Archdruids. All three were old and clad in full white robes, the two men of them watching with grave interest. The woman had her eyes closed, her hands cupped around something on the table.

"Derwyddon," he said respectfully, bowing his head. "I am assigning Riders to this, but obviously it'll be a faster resolved situation if we collaborate -"

"We agree." The central Archdruid was tall and thin, probably in his sixties, and at first glance seemed to be almost as stern as Eifion except for his twinkling eyes. Right now, though, he looked grave. "The druids of Cymru are at your disposal. We have only one request."

The woman to his side waved one hand over the top of the other and finally sat back, revealing the stub of a perfectly ordinary-looking lit candle on the tabletop. The central Archdruid held his hand over the flame, a dark, gritty powder sprinkling down from his thin fingers. The flame flickered for a second, and a thin line of black smoke drifted lazily up from it.

"And your request is?" Rhydian asked. The Archdruid smiled as the smoke wound itself around his fingers, and then he flicked it into the room where it tumbled languidly through the still air to Aerona.

"We should like Rider Aerona to have some part in the investigation," he said, as the smoke settled around her in a vague ring before diffusing slowly. Aerona stayed completely still, watching it. Rhydian nodded.

"Granted," he said, flashing Aerona a quick smile. "I never argue with smoke."