Cymru - Chapter 32

Poor Madog; nothing ever seems to genuinely happen in his chapters. He's all story and no plot. Ah well. One requested fight scene and some character interaction for you. I am Unconvinced of its quality.

MADOG

It was mid afternoon when they finished, Haf visibly swaying on her feet by the end. It was at the very end that they finally lost one.

Aerona was their first indication. By that point the people of Cas-Gwent had sufficiently calmed down from their bloodthirsty desire for Iolo's kneecaps to be standing grimly together, tensely waiting while each child went into the circle and then helping the sobbing parents as they left, the children wrapped in blankets and taken to the nearest house behind them where a woman as wide as she was tall was happily making bakestones to feed everyone. What had been a carefully-maintained perimeter by the Riders had simply become Madog, Dylan and Adara standing there for the look of the thing while Adara delicately stood in the way of what Awen was doing so as not to scar people.

Dylan was blinking more than normal, a fact that was pushing at Madog's attempts to stop worrying. Usually his eyes would have been working overtime with a crowd to look at, scanning every face and every tree, but instead he was having to move his head, a motion he didn't keep up for long. Mercifully, he didn't seem to have gotten any worse.

"Just tell me if it hurts," Madog said reasonably for what had to be the eighth time. "I'm not asking if you can cope, I know you can. I just want to know."

"And then you will be filled with impotent rage and bile," Dylan said diffidently. "It would only upset you, and then you'd be fretful."

"I'm fretful anyway," Madog pointed out. "And yet I'm not smacking you upside the head, which I'd really like to do. Does it hurt?"

"You might as well say yes," Adara said mildly. "It's the only answer he'll accept, because he's being overprotective."

"Yeah, it's like he's a Wingleader or something," Dylan sniffed. "Hey, does yours do that?"

"All the time," Adara said promptly. "Something awful. She's ever so exasperating. Does yours have horrendous nightmares about your deaths?"

"All the time!" Dylan grinned. "And then -"

Madog smacked them both upside the head. They each yelped and leaped sideways away from him, Adara's hand straying momentarily to her belt. Awen glanced up briefly from the remains of Iolo's toes and gave him the smallest of smiles, her eyes twinkling.

"Awen might be busy," Madog said sternly. "I am not. Shut up both of you or I'll do it again."

"You hit Dylan!" Adara said indignantly. "With his poor eyes! What kind of a Wingleader are you?"

"I knew he didn't care," Dylan said morosely. "It's only ever for the public eye, you know."

"I'm going to sell you to a Phoenician," Madog told him, and then heard the small noise from behind him.

It was only quiet, a tiny caption of sound from Aerona's throat, apparently made involuntarily; but it instantly put them on alert, Adara dropping a hand to Awen's shoulder, Dylan sharply half-turning to Aerona, Madog throwing up his hands again to warn the crowd to stay back. He glanced over his shoulder. Aerona was on her knees, her eyes glazed, clutching a boy tightly, but something was wrong. She was - not shaking, but sort of twitching, her arms and legs variously tensing and relaxing. Haf was sweating by Iolo, her brow creased in concentration, and the child in Aerona's arms stared blankly, immobile. Madog looked back warily at the suddenly restless crowd, switching on the authority as easily as breathing.

"Keep there," he commanded them. "Dylan? Go and check her."

"I'm losing him," Haf whispered. "I can't... I'm losing him..."

"Gwion," a woman said, horrified, moving forward to Iolo; Adara stepped nimbly to meet her, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. "Give him back! Give him back!"

"Dylan?" Madog asked sharply.

"Not looking good," Dylan said, his voice unusually sombre. "Aerona's panicking, I think my boy Iolo is keeping this one -"

There was a shriek from Iolo as Awen got inventive, but Haf was shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks.

"No," she was saying. "Too far, too much, too deep. It's got him. He's gone..."

There was an awful keening noise from Aerona, despair and desperation and grief and rage; a glance back showed Madog that she was shaking, the boy in her arms as animated as a brick, Dylan crouched outside the circle still but leaning in, his arms wrapped around her as he whispered in her ear. Haf was muttering something fast, her fingers gripping Iolo's head hard enough to bruise as he arched and fought under Awen's attention. Adara had both arms around Gwion's mother now, physically holding her back while Madog looked as imposing as he could to keep the rest at bay, and prayed Haf could pull the boy back -

And then she swore, and he knew she couldn't.

"No good," Haf said bitterly, abruptly coming back to herself and standing up away from Iolo with a glance that suggested he was a streak of genital secretion in her eyes. Her voice shook slightly, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "He's taken too much. There's too little left now. I'm so sorry," she added, looking up at Gwion's mother who was now being held back by the combined forces of Adara and a man who looked like the boy's father. "Your son is gone."

"Help Aerona," Awen said, standing herself. Her fingers were stained with blood, and she turned to the grieving parents. Gwion's mother was sobbing hysterically, fighting to get forward to her son. Awen reached out, and took her hand as it flailed past.

"He's gone now," she said, her voice low and sorrowful and yet somehow immensely strong, and a silence spread back from her words through the throng of people, all eyes switching to her. Madog recognised the trick. He used it himself. It was an assertion of authority, providing oneself as the crutch for everyone to lean on. The woman froze, her struggles abating as she wept, slowly sinking to her knees. Awen glanced at Madog. "Fetch him?"

Madog turned to the others. Haf had gently worked her fingers into Aerona's hair, whispering something under her breath, and as Madog made it around the circle to them Aerona shuddered once and slumped sideways into Dylan's arms, her eyes closed. Her grip on the unresponsive Gwion loosened, and Madog reached down and gently picked him up. He weighed so much less than Madog had expected; it was strange, almost as though the absense of his mind was a physically noticeable thing, and he was literally just a shell. Madog supposed he was. He only blinked.

His father accepted the small body, and finally broke down as completely as the woman beside him, his tears falling onto Gwion's forehead. Gwion simply stared. Madog watched, his mind ablaze. It had been a while since he'd been this angry, he reflected. There was a good chance he was going to do someone a serious injury.

"Everyone," Awen called out, eyeing the crowd. Absolutely everyone listened. "I need you all to back up a bit, for a minute. We need to talk about Gwion here, and what happens next, and we'll need some space."

And they actually did, although Madog wasn't surprised. There was now an inner core of fire and teeth lurking beneath Awen's skin. He wouldn't have taken her on right now, either.

Although he had a nasty feeling he knew what she was steeling herself to do, because he'd have done the same.

Haf came over at Awen's gesture and they all knelt beside the grieving adults and the boy who was non-alive.

"The hares," the man was whispering. "The two he kept, he loved them so much, you remember? Your honey bread. Stole it from the stone as it came off. And the woods, how he loved the woods."

"And that milk jug," the woman managed with a watery smile before her face creased, and she silently gave way to the tears again.

"You'll need to explain it, Derwydd," Awen said quietly. "What will happen to him next, now he can't be cured?"

"He'll get worse," Haf said, her face pale and strained, the freckles across her nose and cheeks becoming pronounced. "He'll never stop dreaming it. He can't. The damage to what's left of his mind is too extensive, and the - thing - that's been taking him won't stop. Not even if we kill that one."

Her look at Iolo was poison. Adara swallowed, looking at the blank face of Gwion. The father looked up, his eyes red with tears and swollen with grief.

"He's dead, isn't he?" he said, his voice quivering slightly. "He's dead already, now. We'll never have him back. But he can still suffer?"

"I'm so sorry," Haf almost whispered. "It's all that's left that he can do. He'll start screaming one day soon. And he won't stop."

"No." The mother looked at him and they exchanged a glance that nearly broke Madog, a glance filled with the depth of shared grief and firm understanding. "No," she repeated. "We can't allow that. If it's all that's left that we can do for him, we have to take that away."

"He mustn't suffer anymore," the father said softly, stroking his son's hair; and they both looked at Awen, a silent plea. She nodded instantly, just once, and proved Madog right.

"Take ten minutes," she said, gentle but hard. "Say goodbye."

**************

It was hard to do, but eventually Madog managed to convince them all that only he and Awen would go. Dylan was fairly content to stay with the still-sleeping Aerona, his back leaning against one of the hazels, his eyes closed to presumably rest them and stop them from aching. Adara had been harder, clearly unhappy at the prospect of her Leader going by herself, but Haf needed help with the children they'd saved and the rest of the town, and once she realised Madog was going she was vaguely mollified. Awen was the hardest. Eventually he only convinced her by reminding her that she couldn't give him an order, and then following her into the forest that Gwion had apparently loved so much.

His parents had been very particular about the location. It was just over the bridge onto the Saxon bank and in a little way to a clearing with an oak-tree they apparently made dens in. Gwion had tried to live there once, his mother told them. He'd been an outgoing child.

Awen led Gwion once they were into the forest rather than carrying him. His tiny footsteps barely even made a noise on the earthen track, brambles snatching unheeded at his trousers. Madog followed, maintaining a careful two-foot distance behind Awen's back.

"It's a shame it's Saxon here," Madog said quietly as they walked. "It's a beautiful wood."

"Isn't it?" The ghost of a smile flitted at the edge of Awen's mouth as she turned her head slightly. "I can't quite believe they let the children come here. I suppose it's not fully Saxon. That weird No-Man's Land between the borders."

"And where you get blackberries is where you get blackberries, I suppose," Madog said. A magpie chattered, somewhere off to his right, and he shuddered. "Seems mental to me, still."

"I think this is it," Awen said, and Madog peered around her. She was right; the clearing opened out just in front of them, a large oak on the opposite side so old it had developed a hollow trunk, a magnet for children. Madog held back his sigh and stepped forward behind Awen under the cover of moving to see better. This was it, then. Never a better chance, although there was a good chance she'd never forgive him.

He threw one arm across her shoulders, grabbed her chin with the other hand and twisted.

No 'crack' echoed across the clearing, a hopeful sign that Madog hadn't accidently just killed her, and Awen dropped without so much as a murmur. He caught her and lowered her as gently as he could to the floor, settling two fingers against her throat to feel for a pulse. It beat steadily, and Madog breathed again. Instant unconsciousness was immensely difficult without the side effect of instant death. And he never dealt out head injuries if he could help it. They were far more risky, trained or not.

Gwion hadn't even watched. Madog took him by the hand and led him over to the tree, http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifhis final journey, before crouching down behind him, his hands resting on the thin shoulders.

"You liked this place, I'm told," Madog said quietly. There was no response. "I know. You don't remember how to like things anymore. The dream takes it away. It follows you, and you're so tired."

He gathered the boy into his lap, his arms automatically finding the same position he'd just used on Awen.

"But this is it," he whispered. "The dream is gone, Gwion. You can sleep now."

The 'crack' was quiet, but in Madog's mind it bounced off the trees around them and reverberated through his bones. The small body in his arms slumped, no less responsive than it had been seconds before, the head unnaturally mobile. Madog held it for a minute, because he felt he should, but it was only obligation. He knew only too well the difference between a person and a corpse. Gwion was gone, the end of a journey that Owain and Iolo had started a year before.

Sighing, Madog closed Gwion's eyes and laid him to one side, and then went back to Awen. She was still sleeping, her face without the self-loathing and anger and bitterness and sorrow that were starting to show through her careful mask. She looked impossibly young again, Madog thought. Not physically; physically she looked mid-twenties, which probably meant an actual age of early thirties. But somehow, sleeping, Madog could see a child in her. It was strange.

He gathered her up as gently as he could and took her back to the oak tree, leaning back against its trunk and settling Awen against his chest, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Probably, Madog reflected, he should disarm her. Active Riders tended to wake fighting, and there was every chance he'd just given her cause to repeat a dream about Owain cutting her throat from behind her. He decided against it. Awen was an Alpha Wingleader. She was devious. She'd have weapons stored in places he'd only find if he completely stripped her. He knew this, because so did he.

So Madog held her wrists, and wrapped his arms around her, and waited for her to wake up.

He didn't have long to wait in the end, only about ten minutes more. Awen woke with the tell-tale jerk that indeed signified a nightmare, an involuntary distressed noise tangled in her throat and her wrists twisting in his grip. Madog just had time to start murmuring "It's okay, it's me, you're fine," when the mystery of why Awen didn't naturally favour the knife in her belt was solved through the medium of him nearly losing a finger.

"Wristblades?" he said, impressed, as Awen froze and then fell back wearily against him. "Good gods. I nearly passed the training for those, but then I almost impaled my own hand and got stuck to a table."

"You could have just asked," Awen said defeatedly. "I have a headache now, Madog."

"You'd have said no," Madog answered plainly. "And I couldn't let you punish yourself like that."

"Punish myself?" Her voice was almost raw. "It wasn't about me, Madog! It had to be done, and I'm the Alpha Wingleader here. It's my job -"

"Before you carry on, remember that I am too, Awen," Madog said quietly. It was the first time they'd dropped titles for each other. "I know what that feels like. There's you, at the top, shouldering the weight of everything. And yes, of course you do it gladly! Of course you do. But I know that strain. I know how much responsibility you take on, and I certainly know how much more you take than you're meant to."

He sighed and dropped his head back against the trunk, staring up at the late afternoon sky above them through the leaves.

"I know how hard that is," he went on. "Because you can't share it. And that's the biggest weight, isn't it? The hardest part. However close your Wing are, your Deputy, your Beta Wingleader, your Sovereign, the people who work in the bloody kitchens - you can never share it. Part of being a commander. They can't know if you have doubts, or you can't lead them. So everything gets even harder than it already was, because it means it really is only you at the top, doesn't it? All alone. Everything comes back to you."

Madog paused. A blackbird was singing somewhere, the pure melody filtering through the clearing and underlining the silence between them. Awen had gone still in his arms, her wrists limp in his grip. He rested his chin on top of her head.

"If it was me, instead of you," he murmured, "I'd have blamed myself for every last step. Every tiny thing that had happened, no matter how idiotic. Because we do, don't we? Here, in Cas-Gwent. An entirely unrelated cult of crazy druids targets the children in a loose association with a crazy rogue Rider. That would be my fault, if it happened to me. Since it's happened to you, I can see very clearly that it isn't your fault. But you can't. So yes; it was your duty to help Gwion there pass on, because it's the job of any Rider to do so, and in this area that has to mean you. And that's the point. It was your punishment. Your sentence for failing them. In your head, you deserved to go down to the same level as Owain, a child-killer. So see it the other way around. Could you have let me do that to myself?"

Awen shifted in his arms and he let go of her wrists, allowing her to turn herself sideways on his chest, her head resting on his collarbone. He hugged her tightly.

"No," she said quietly. "I wouldn't."

They let the silence stretch out again, the beautiful song of the blackbird overlaying the rustle of the wind in the trees, a buzzard mewing its lonely call far above them. It was strangely peaceful. Strangely liberating, being the wrong side of the border. It almost felt as though they could say things like this, things they could never voice in Cymru, because in a foreign land who was there to care? Madog wondered if Awen felt the same way.

"It's a privilege," she said at last. "And I'd never, ever trade it. Ever. But it's a hard life."

"Yeah," Madog agreed. "I know."

And he hoped he was wrong about her. Maybe his theory was correct; maybe there were Riders who belonged to some secret extra Union organisation. But if so, he could imagine nothing more cruel or foolhardy than piling that onto an Alpha Wingleader.

Awen sighed and sat up, one hand moving to the back of her neck while she rotated her head slightly.

"Ow," she complained, apparently good-naturedly. That poise and subtle humour was back, whether another mask or real Madog knew he couldn't tell; but an hour before she hadn't even had the mask, so he deemed it an improvement. "I might poke you in the eye for that, you know. Although thanks for leaving my spine intact, it was good of you."

"You're thoroughly welcome," Madog said. "Thanks for not removing my hand with your wristblades. I can't believe you use those."

"They're good for the element of very brief surprise," Awen said. She rolled gracefully and swiftly to her feet, and gave him a hand up. "The genius of that being, it never wears off. Anyway; Iolo."

"Ah, yes," Madog said darkly. "Or Dylan's boy Iolo. I swear he thinks we're going to take him home as a mascot or something. I want his eyes, I think. I'll be happy then."

"They're yours." Awen looked back along the path the way they'd come, stretching. "Since it's an attack on children I'm otherwise going to treat him as a paedophile, I think. Seventeen sets of parents so seventeen hours, plus one extra for Gwion. The Urdd can have what's left."

Madog laughed.

"Beautiful!" he said. "I might waive my claim on his eyes in that -"

He saw the change in Awen's expression first, as she looked over his shoulder; and then she was throwing herself down and kicking his ankle out from under him in one smooth movement, toppling him with her. The throwing axe whirred past so close to his head he felt the breeze of its passage on his face as he fell, embedding itself in a tree trunk opposite where it vibrated. Madog barely saw it. It was already a past threat, something that could be ignored; his attention and focus was dragged away to scan the trees around them, to check if they were surrounded. It took barely a second. By the time he hit the ground he was already turning and in position to bounce up and at their assailant behind him, Awen already in a cat-like crouch -

The Saxons leaped out of the trees, fifteen, twenty of them - a scout party, his mind supplied - swords at the ready and snarling in their incomprehensible gutteral drawl. Madog had drawn both swords without even thinking about it. He watched, ready, as three Saxons sprinted for him, in the lead, swords rising, and instinct took over. He leapt at the first, driving both swords point-first into his neck and sweeping them sideways, beheading all three; the next two arrived to the sides and he ducked to the left, sweeping one blade upwards to gut the Saxon and spinning him around with the other arm, the second running onto his comrade's sword; the next five were suddenly there, and it was a ducking, weaving, leaping dance to keep ahead of them, leading them to harm each other before killing them one by one; and as he sliced through the chest of one the shadow alerted him to the one behind, too close, his back crawling, he spun -

- as the Saxon fell, Awen's hunting knife sitting cleanly in his skull from where she'd thrown it across the clearing. Madog ducked a sword, yanked the knife out and drove upwards into an attacker, almost removing the jaw, before whirling and throwing it back across. Awen grabbed it with barely a glance, driving it straight through a Saxon face. The brief glance was an enjoyable experience. Awen's fighting style truly did embrace that brief element of surprise; the wristblades constantly flashed in and out, retracted at the start of an attack until the Saxon had stopped trying to dodge, thinking they'd calculated the full distance to avoid her hand, and then suddenly the blades slid out and straight into their skulls. And like a lot of female Riders, what she may have lacked in strength against an adversary she more than made up for in speed, agility and, most of all, multi-tasking. Awen could gauge a whole battlefield with a glance, and fight several entirely different fights at once.

They fought on, the bodies mounting up, the blood crossing the floor - four more reared up before Madog, snarling and screaming, and suddenly, a Saxon sword scythed through three of them, their falling corpses knocking the fourth off balance for him to dispatch. He looked around, and saw Awen; as she dodged another, she pointed. One Saxon was turning and running back into the woods.

"That one!" she yelled, her eyes alive with battle and blood. "He knows who I am, he's going to report!"

"How do you know that?" Madog shouted back. He decapitated a Saxon with one sword and threw the other over his body - it hit the departing messenger squarely between the shoulder blades, sinking deep. Madog carried on.

"I'm listening!" Awen said, disembowelling someone. "Good shot!"

"You speak Saxon?!"

"Yeah!" She ducked another axe. "Amongst others!"

"Talk to them!" he yelled, amused. "Say, 'Gentlemen, aren't you meant to be attacking the Northlands?'"

"I can't!" Awen's laugh was pure adrenaline. "We're not supposed to know! They'll know we know, that can't get back to Owain if he's with them -"

"Awen!" He'd have felt indignant, but it was hard to do when actual Saxons were there being a genuine threat. "I'm from the Northlands! I assure you I'm supposed to know they've increased raiding up there!"

She laughed again, the sound wild, and then shouted something out in what must have been Saxon, the sound carrying across the clearing and through the trees. It was brilliant; the Saxons froze, eyes going wide, many paying for such a costly mistake.

"I said you asked!" she grinned recklessly. "Duck!"

He did, and her hunting knife mowed down another attacker behind him. Again, he pulled it out and threw it back. A Saxon shouted something angrily, gesturing expansively at Madog and Awen, and Awen laughed.

"That was about us, wasn't it?" Madog yelled in mock-offense.

"I killed his brothers, it seems!" Awen said happily. "I've never thought to actually talk to them before! Can I tell them who you are? They know me!"

"Give me a really terrifying epithet," Madog grinned, and again Awen shouted in Saxon. Pleasingly, the Saxons genuinely did look worried suddenly, looking between the two Riders. Madog laughed.

"Excellent!" he said. "What did you go for?"

"Alpha Wingleader!"

Ah. Yes, that would probably do it. Saxons were as thick as planks, but if what Hannibal said was true, people across the world seemed to almost revere Riders. In which case, they must have received the reports from Saxons, as the usual recipients.

There were only three left when, suddenly, the claxon of the border warning shrieked around them, the noise diving through Madog's conscious mind into his hind-brain and pressing a button marked 'Primal Anger'. Their conversation ceased, just like that, both of them seeming to gain an extra edge formed of anger and hatred. But it was a problem. They were only two Riders, alone in a forest the wrong side of the border. This had been a scout party. The full raid was coming.

The final Saxon fell to his own axe wielded in Awen's hands, and they both paused, taking a second to catch their breath. The sun shone merrily in a macabre irony to the scene, the beautiful clearing strewn with corpses in various states of dismemberment, a hilarious number of them sporting the handles of their own weapons. Awen seemed to enjoy the additional insult of using their own weapons against them. They stood panting, ten feet apart, Awen's bare upper arms marked and streaked with blood over the scars, a new slice across her bicep bleeding freely. Her uniform was also covered, split open over one thigh, and as she turned to catch his eye he could see where a fine spray of blood was gently marking out one side of her face, lightly marking out her cheekbone, browbone and temple. He wondered if he looked as bad. Probably.

Their eyes met, and they both were suddenly trying their hardest not to laugh, fighting down the adrenaline-fuelled hysteria.

"Oh, gods," Awen giggled. "I so badly needed that, but we have to go. We can't fight a whole raid here."

"No," Madog agreed, running a hand through his hair. "Although if you just shout at them in Saxon some more - "

They both laughed, struggling to control themselves; and then, together, they both calmed down, professionalism moving in.

"Right," Awen said steadily. "Gwion. We'll have to put the body somewhere safe, we aren't going to make it to the border in time."

"Inside the tree." Madog jumped nimbly over a huddle of corpses, searching for Gwion's body. Fortunately it had been protected by a Saxon falling on it. Madog extracted it carefully and they inserted it inside the hollow trunk of the oak, out of sight. Beneath the wail of the claxon, the rustling of undergrowth was growing impossibly loud, approaching fast through the trees. Awen looked into the wood, her gaze calculating.

"We'll never make it back," she said calmly. "Shame, because that bridge is brilliantly easy to defend. Hiding on the edges of the clearing would be best, I think. We're less of a target that way, can take more by surprise."

"Good plan." Madog stood and looked swiftly around the clearing, scanning for suitable trees. "There's a chance the Wings will find us, of course. If they're flying to meet the raid."

"This far over the border it's unlikely." Awen stood and calmly moved to a pair of ash trees, slipping behind them and crouching down. "They'll be meeting the main body, I should think. Although Adara and Dylan know where we are, so we might get a Wing if we can hold out long enough."

"It's been a joy fighting with you," Madog grinned, finding his own tree. Awen looked at him and smiled.

"And you," she said warmly. "You fight like a wolf, you know. Or a bear. You're all... focus, and power."

"Thanks," he said, snorting. "You move like a cat. Or a snake."

And they fell silent, feeling the vibrations through the ground of over a hundred Saxons approaching. It was a strange thing, observing the likelihood of your own imminent demise. He felt completely calm, and focused. Maybe it was different if you weren't a Rider, Madog considered. Maybe you panicked then. But if he died today, in about twenty seconds' time, it would be to protect Cymru. He could never begrudge that.

The Saxons burst into the clearing, their screaming layering with the claxon as they ran, and stumbled over the severed limbs of their comrades. They slowed slightly as their leader shouted something, all of them suddenly wary at the sight of the slaughter this far over the border; and Awen grinned savagely, an infectious expression that Madog found himself sharing in spite of not understanding -

- and then they moved. He cut down four in a row before they managed to react, a particularly horrible scream on the other side of the clearing telling of Awen's activities. The next hefted an axe the size of Madog's head, unwisely swinging it with his full weight; Madog ducked, allowing the decapitation of another Saxon before gutting the man and moving to the next. The shouted banter of earlier was gone now. Madog fought, as hard as he could, focusing only on cutting down as many as possible. The Saxons were shouting; more poured in, through the trees, replacing the fallen far too quickly to keep up. Ordinarily he'd have depended entirely on the Wing to watch his back as he went but he couldn't here; Awen's hunting knife saved him three times before the Saxons were too numerous for him to throw it back, a fact that almost panicked him at the thought of her now having to fight without it until a Saxon sword impaled a warrior against a tree and he realised that Awen could steal her own weapons. But still, it wasn't going to work for much longer. Madog could only focus on who he was fighting, unable to see how Awen was doing, and still the Saxons were pouring in...

There were too few advantages. Riders were gymnastically trained, so the bodies now literally knee-deep around them weren't as much of a problem to Madog's balance and manoeuverability as to the encroaching flood of Saxons; and the numbers were so exaggerated that they were more in danger of hitting each other than either Madog or Awen. But it didn't matter. The Saxons only had to be lucky once. Madog had to be lucky every time, and it was wearing out.

Another Saxon shouted something, and a fresh wave charged forward, swords up; and finally Madog caught a glimpse of Awen through a gap in the flailing limbs. She had both wristblades extended and embedded to the hilt in two Saxons' throats, tearing them through as she turned, aiming for the next already, not seeing the new line; they bore down on her, a man the size of an ox in the lead, screaming, his sword up and ready - Madog opened his mouth, his heart almost freezing as he fought to shout and knew he couldn't in time - Awen was turning almost in slow motion, not fast enough, the Saxon rearing, three inches between them -

The arrows slammed into the Saxon's throat, dropping him instantly, his momentum and weight bearing Awen down among the corpses and followed by six others, the fletching protruding from their throats. In front of Madog the same thing happened and he leaped back from the falling limbs, taking the brief second to glance behind him.

"You look like a mess, boy!" Dylan yelled, another four arrows already on the string and aiming. Adara had merrily sprung into a tree and was firing from her higher vantage point, her face more terrifying than a nightmare, and judging by the glimpse Madog had of the fletching it had been her specifically who'd saved Awen. Aerona was a fast-moving shape among far larger Saxon warriors, weaving her smaller frame elegantly and effectively between the swords that fell from lifeless hands after her passing. Madog grinned savagely. Five of them. Those were better odds.

"I've been fighting!" he shouted back to Dylan. "You want to offer an excuse, you reprobate?"

"Hey; these eyes look cool, Aerona said!"

"Leader, if you don't get up in the next three seconds," Adara yelled, her tone dangerous, but Awen was hauling herself back out of the mound of dead people, struggling out from under the enormous Saxon pinning her down. Her uniform was too dark for it to be instantly obvious but her arms were red and black, coated with blood, one side of her face the same and her hair actually wet with it, the auburn colour turned deep red. She was grinning as recklessly as Madog, and he saw the relief flicker in her eyes as she caught sight of him.

"I'm going to sleep in the bath tonight," she said. "But clearly, I will never be clean again. Hey, Saxon!"

She stood up straight on the corpse-pile, a vision of conquering hero, fixing her gaze onto an important-looking Saxon across the clearing, and yelled something in Saxon. The man snarled, his eyes nearly popping out as he charged at her until he was halted by another arrow from Adara. Awen laughed, and launched herself back into the fight.

"Awesome!" Madog shouted, deeply amused. "What did you say?"

"Since when can you speak Saxon?!" Adara yelled down, astonished. "You didn't actually say anything?"

"You pick bits up, here and there!" Awen threw back, decapitating someone. "You know, 'your mother was a dog', 'your blood will run through the streets', 'my children will feast on your marrow'."

"That's excellent!" Dylan shouted gleefully. "Hey, ask them if they think my eyes look cool!"

"Ooh, it's like a new and deeply dangerous game!" Aerona shouted happily. "What are they saying?"

"Er, 'Your mother was a dog, your blood will run through the streets and my children will feast on your marrow'," Awen shouted, and then pointed at a Saxon across the clearing, screaming something to the others in the trees. "Oh, but that one's calling for reinforcements!"

Two arrows hit the man in the throat, one each from Adara and Dylan, and Aerona actually found the breath to giggle. Madog was impressed.

"Owned!" Dylan crowed. "No calling your mates! We haven't, it's only fair!"

"Don't we think the claxon counts as calling our mates?" Aerona called. "They'll be here soon, and you both have angry Wings on the way."

"Did you leave a message?" Madog asked. A Saxon pulled back an arm to hurl a throwing axe at Adara, and he neatly removed it and the man's head.

"With Haf and the townspeople!" Adara shouted. "Awen! Ask them something, it'll be funny!"

"Ask them if my eyes are cool," Dylan repeated insistently. Awen called something, the gutteral sounds apparently rolling off her tongue. A Saxon somewhere towards the back shrieked something, his voice enraged.

"They say you're a cursed demon-spawn who drinks blood!" Awen said, impressed. "Rub some around your mouth, quick! It'll sell the image!"

"Tell one his shoelaces are untied!" Adara shouted. "Or, ooh, no; tell one his fly is undone!"

"Hey, tell that one who thinks I'm a demon I'm going to kill him last and drink him!" Dylan yelled, and Madog laughed as Awen conveyed it. The Saxon screamed with rage and revulsion, pressing forward.

"Maybe we all should do that!" Aerona suggested brightly. "Pick a nemesis!"

"I tax this one," Madog declared, spinning low and hamstringing a Saxon. As the man fell, Madog sliced off his hands. "Hey, ask them how they can justify social inequality on the grounds of gender when they're clearly not superior enough to avoid death by woman?"

Awen did. It seemed to enrage them.

"Aw, you offended their poor little morals," Adara called mockingly. "See that one down there with the red half-shawl thing? Tell him I think he looks like a frog!"

Awen pointed at him and shouted the required sentence, and his lips stretched in a grimace, looking up at Adara, who shot him through the eye.

"I chose him!" Adara shouted. "But I've finished him now, because I'm a big impatient!"

"That's fine, Adara, but you don't get to finish anyone else's, understand?" Aerona shouted, a Tutor to the core. The effect was somewhat diminished by her ripping out the throat of a man twice her size at the same time, however.

"Hey, ask them if they prefer Madog or me!" Dylan yelled. Madog wished he could have smacked him upside the head.

There was a movement on the other side of the clearing and a Saxon on a horse reined in from a canter to a halt, clearly a leader of some sort. He saw Awen and smiled with his mouth, a cruel amusement flooding his features. Madog could feel his instincts sharpening towards the man, and wondered if anyone else had noticed when the Saxon spoke, one long sentence. Awen's eyes went murderous.

"What did he say?" Madog yelled as Awen signalled Adara, who fired at him. Other Saxons seemed to appear from nowhere, throwing shields in the way and catching the arrows. Awen leaped forward, trying to fight her way to the man, but the Saxons clearly knew it was her intention and swarmed into the way.

"He knows Owain," Awen called over the noise. She didn't snarl, her expression unchanging, but she'd never been more predatory. She shouted something in Saxon and the man lifted his chin sharply, proudly, and opened his mouth to speak -

- and froze staring into the forest. Madog just had time to register the sound of wings and a loud, booming Southlander voice shouting 'Duck!' before hurling himself down and the merod swept in, mowing down the Saxons around him. He looked up to see the man on his horse turning and fleeing, galloping into the forest as Awen leaped to her feet, a Casnewydd Rider swooping towards her on his meraden.

"Caradog!" she said, pointing after the Saxon. "That one, bring me his head!"

"With pleasure, Leader!" Caradog roared, and swept away. Madog looked around.

The Wings had moved on into the trees, most pursuing the fleeing Saxons to their border and a few landing, looking for their Wing-mates. Menna landed behind him, her meraden's hooves crushing the bones of the corpses beneath his hooves loudly. The floor was piled with bodies and pieces of bodies, about five or six deep in some places, only one or two in others. No Saxons were still alive there. Aerona was picking her way across the uneven floor back to the solid ground of the track while Adara slung her bow back over her shoulder, leaping nimbly down from her tree to talk to a Casnewydd Rider. And in the middle Awen sank to her knees on the macabre carpet, exhaustion lining her movements. Madog scrambled awkwardly over to her. It wasn't an easy task; now that the adrenaline had gone his body felt as tired as Awen looked, his limbs heavy and awkward. He kept sinking between corpses.

"My least favourite way to spend an afternoon probably is hip-deep in Saxons, as it goes," Madog said, sinking in beside her and leaning against a stack. Awen snorted and looked wearily at him. Her face was now entirely covered in blood, except for white finger marks around her eyes where she'd wiped them clean. It looked like war paint.

"You're a mess," she said softly, and laughed along with him at the hypocrisy. "And... I can't quite believe we survived that."

And then they were both laughing helplessly, the hysteria that had threatened them earlier now biting deep. He threw an arm around her and hugged her as the laughter claimed him and she clung to him back, the blood from her arms smearing across his jaw.

He wasn't immediately aware of the other Riders around them, only noticing the hesitant and slowly-growing circle once several of them, both Casnewydd and Wrecsam, were crouched on the corpses in front of him where he could see them. Somehow he managed to regain control, feeling Awen doing the same, and he pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, still grinning, realising as he did how Wingleaderish a question it was. She dodged it like the Wingleader she was.

"Are you?" she asked, her own grin still in place as she turned his chin slightly, apparently looking at his neck. Madog forced himself to think about something else quickly. The buzzing adrenaline hadn't let him feel any injuries yet, and as soon as he did, they were going to hurt.

"Nice non-answer, there," he said wryly, and Awen laughed.

"As was that," she said craftily, and stood with impressive balance on the uneven corpse-pile as the large Rider she'd sent after the Saxon leader flew back and threw down a head.

"Leader!" he said merrily, Saluting. "Right one, or should I try again?"

"No, this is him," Awen said mildly, Saluting back. "Good work. Good work everyone," she added to the group at large, and Madog looked around. All members of both Alpha Wings were now present and watching their Leaders carefully, Aerona casually wiping her daggers clean on a Saxon tunic and Dylan prowling the bodies under the oak tree for the Saxon who had called him a demon. Glesni and Bronwen were both watching Madog closely, Glesni broadcasting concern as loudly as if she'd shouted it. Which was fair. If he looked anything like Awen she was probably worried he might be dead.

Awen smiled to herself, crouched down and moved her mouth to Madog's ear.

"The other side of the coin," she murmured quietly. "There's the strain of the job, isn't there? And then there's this."

"Yeah, except Dylan," Madog said, and Awen laughed out loud.

"You can complain all you want, Madog," she said, standing and beginning the journey back to the firm forest floor. "But he's still better than Owain."

"And how," Adara said. Awen's movement had apparently dissolved whatever strange force was keeping both sets of Riders from swamping their Leaders, and he saw Awen being grabbed by a stocky man for the start of some kind of group hug before the same thing was happening to him, Hefin standing behind him and gripping his shoulders to hold him still while Menna started checking him for injuries.

"I'm fine," he protested. "Just tired. Did you get the druids?"

"All the ones in Casnewydd, yeah," Glesni said, putting her hand on his arm with a grip of stone. "Some were creepy, although it seems not as bad as the one Dylan took on. Have you seen his eyes?"

"Do they look cool?" Dylan asked, hopping neatly from corpse to corpse. "Aerona says they do. Also she saved me, all hail Aerona."

"Really?" Bronwen turned to Aerona who giggled, and shook her head.

"Not really," she said. "Even blind Dylan nearly broke the guy's jaw, I was just there - oh, a hug! How lovely!"

"Sorry, they do that," Madog said as Bronwen and Emyr both attached themselves to Aerona. After a second Dylan shrugged, and joined in. "Oh, and you've got Dylan. Well done. He's not bothered with me, but I am only his Wingleader, so you know. It's fine."

"We need to get you back, Leader," Menna said abruptly, and Madog scrabbled to not notice if he was hurting anywhere. Menna leaned around to the Casnewydd huddle. "How's she doing?"

"We need to get her back," Caradog said, his tone serious, ignoring Awen's rolled eyes. "Although considering they were fighting alone I'm astounded it's not worse."

"Where's Gwion?" Aerona said seriously, and Madog pulled out of Hefin's grip, leaning forward to her.

"Are you okay now?" he asked seriously, and she gave him a small, sad smile.

"Well, as good as I will be," she sighed. "I knew it would hurt, we've got the man who did it... I'll get over it."

"Over here," Awen said, starting to clime up a corpse when Caradog looped an arm around her ribs and pulled her back.

"Just say and someone else will get him," he said firmly. "You aren't. You're not moving more than you have to."

Awen sighed, and didn't argue.

"The oak tree is hollow," she said wearily. "He's in there. Cei, Tanwen, go and help. I think I've lost a knife, too."

"It's over there somewhere," Madog said, pointing vaguely at where he'd been fighting. "Buried a bit. And one of my swords is in the back of a Saxon over there somewhere."

Astonishingly enough, both weapons were actually found; Dylan and Adara in particular seemed bent on finding them before they all left. Eventually they managed to dig out Gwion's body and Aerona took it, her eyes slightly haunted as she held it to her chest. Dylan yanked a Saxon sword out of a corpse and slung it over his back, apparently claiming a trophy. They walked back to Cas-Gwent somberly, Madog and Awen both on merod for it. Neither Wing had been willing to listen to protests.

Back in the town people were just opening up their doors again, taking the boards back down from their windows and stepping outside to speak to Riders and inspect the damage. Madog looked around warily, surveying it with a practised eye. In fact there was very little; he saw fewer than ten bodies in the streets, all Saxon, and the only notable damage really was an opened and spilled sack of flour. Awen had been right about how easily defended the bridge was, it seemed. Casnewydd's Beta and Gamma Wings were otherwise in evidence, towing away the bodies and making the rounds from door to door to assure the residents they were safe. Everything was smoothly under control, in fact. Madog was profoundly relieved.

"A couple of them tried the river, did you see?" Llio was telling Emyr with a dark snigger. "Straight into the mud banks! One looked like he was still alive, actually, but the tide's coming in now."

"A shame we can't stay and watch," Emyr grinned. "Although what on earth made them try it?"

"They're as stupid as sheep," Adara sniffed. "It's a shocker they didn't all flood in and drown each other in the mud. Did anyone else know Awen can speak Saxon, by the way?"

Briefly, very briefly, as Madog glanced across he saw the flicker in Awen's eyes, and guessed she was deeply regretting letting on about it. Was it a skill gained from being... whatever it was Madog was suspecting her, Dylan and Aerona of being? Could Dylan speak Saxon too?

"You can do what?" Llyr asked, astonished. Caradog barked a short incredulous laugh, staring up at her. Awen shrugged, the movement suggesting that she was now starting to ache and laced with exhaustion.

"It seemed like a good idea," she said. "It's easy enough, it's mostly pointing and grunting."

Clever, Madog thought as almost all of them laughed. Dodge it with humour. Of course, that would only work as long as she could now change the subject, which if she tried to do herself would all but prove that there was something she was avoiding saying -

"Pointing and grunting is how Madog communicates," Dylan said. "That's why he doesn't get laid very often, except with his Phoenician the other night."

"Ooh, you had a Phoenician?" Llio asked, looking up at him. "We don't get many around here."

"Hey now," Caradog grinned. "Don't ask the irrelevant part! Was he hung like a donkey? That's what we want to know!"

"Yes," Madog smiled, the effort of forming a facial expression suddenly incredibly draining. "And he didn't run away screaming on seeing Dylan, it was astonishing."

The conversation settled back down into standard banter, and Madog glumly let it wash over him. Dylan had just saved Awen from that conversation. There were so many possible implications. And he was so tired, every inch of his body now starting to ache. It was all he could do to sit up straight enough not to worry the Wing.

But all the same. He hoped he was wrong about Awen.

****************

It was fortunate they had Haf, really. Clearly she was an incredible healer, unsurprising given that she'd been in the Union and sent out to handle a pack of mental druids, and on only the briefest inspection of Awen she flew back to Casnewydd with them 'just in case.' Once there both Wings used the Casnewydd Alpha Quarters, everyone packing merrily into the extensive bathrooms, clearly bonding over shared fear of losing their Wingleaders. Which actually wasn't so bad, Madog felt. It meant the usual post-battle unwinding while discovering how many parts of your body were in agony was a strangely supported and comforting thing, since members of both Wings seemed to be equally worried about both Leaders.

Awen was a worry, though. She seemed to be exhausted to the point of barely being able to wash the thick layer of blood off herself, sitting on the tiled floor beneath the shower and leaning against the wall, apparently content to try to let the water do the work for her, but she twitched and flinched every time anyone touched her, something Madog considered was probably at least partly his fault after attacking her. After the fourth time of nearly punching Adara Emyr and Hefin went to her without a word and helped Caradog hold her still. It was fantastic for Northlander-Southlander relations, anyway. Shame it was at the cost of Awen's mental well-being, though.

"Hey, Madog, everyone's naked together. Is this your dream?"

"Someone make him go away," Madog pleaded wearily, his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against the tiles. He'd just about managed to stay on his feet. "I don't think I can handle him right now."

"That means yes," Dylan said irrepressibly. Menna's hands moved incredibly gently over Madog's back and he tried not to scream in pain. Something had definitely got him there. "Although he still thinks we all look small after his Phoenician."

"I hate you," Madog sighed, and then drew a breath sharply as Menna's fingers ghosted over his shoulder. "Good gods, why does that hurt so much?"

"There's half a blade still inside," Menna said neutrally. "Well, exaggeration, but still. We'll need the tweezers on that."

"Hey, Madog, do you see it as a shame that half the naked people are women?" Dylan asked. Madog opened his eyes. Dylan was leaning casually against the wall to his right, trying to untangle his beads from his hair. Madog gave him the best glare he could.

"I did say I hate you, didn't I?" he said sourly. "I said those words?"

"Yeah, but you're the mental case who actually chooses a gender," Dylan sniffed, who was Standardly Bisexual. "Would you prefer it if - ?"

"Shut up and get out, Dylan," Madog interrupted wearily. "You're a tool."

"I don't like this cut in your thigh," Llyr was saying across the room. Madog glanced over. The combined efforts of Adara, Caradog, Emyr and Hefin had managed to get Awen very nearly clean, but he could now see the wounds of her own that she'd picked up, steadily bleeding. She was half lying on Caradog's lap, her arms held by Emyr and Hefin while Adara and Llyr checked her injuries. "It's not that deep, but the edges are discoloured. I expect the blade wasn't clean."

"I bet it was that giant one that fell on you," Adara said, futilely wiping away more blood. "You were properly squashed by that one."

"Hey guys!" Aerona bounced merrily into the bathroom. "Haf's just about ready, she says we're to sew them back together and then get them to her quickly. Do you need a hand?"

Menna's palm brushed Madog's hip and he yelped, the pain actually bringing him to his knees, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the wet tiles. Dylan materialised at his elbow, one arm braced across Madog's chest and ribs, catching his weight just before his kneecaps hit the floor while his other hand caught Madog's elbow. Madog grinned breathlessy, his vision swimming.

"Ha," he muttered, gripping Dylan's shoulder. "I knew you cared."

"I don't," Dylan said indifferently, his gentle action as he lowered Madog to rest on the floor proving him a liar. "I also tripped, and grabbed you for my own balance, obviously."

"Time to get you out," Menna said, reaching up and switching off the water. Much though Madog missed the heat it was a relief; the water had been painfully hard against an increasing number of obvious wounds. Something soft brushed at his shoulders carefully, apparently sticking to undamaged areas. He glanced back, and saw Aerona wielding the fluffiest towel he'd ever seen.

"Cheers," he said wearily. She gave him one of her dazzlingly bright smiles.

"You're welcome!" she said happily. "Sorry, I'm trying not to touch any cuts or anything."

It was painful all the same, and the towel was depressingly red by the time she'd finished. After that Menna worked quietly to stitch the wounds, Aerona helping, while Llyr and Hefin worked on Awen. Madog sighed as she twitched her hand briefly into a fist at Caradog running his fingers through her hair. Awen couldn't be getting much comfort out of the experience, he thought glumly. And it was more of a problem than it seemed; if she couldn't even relax around her own Wing then she was going to get increasingly wound up, and permanently jumpy Riders were dangerous.

They moved on after that into one of the healing bays between the Wing Quarters where Haf was already sitting in a new circle on the floor, meditating. She opened her eyes and examined them all sharply as they came in, and then nodded at Awen.

"Her first," she ordered. "One of you will need to be in the circle with her, mind, you'll need to make her keep drinking. And hold her down for the incision."

"Blood poisoning?" Madog asked, belatedly recognising the symbols on the floor and the particular scent of burning herbs and things. "Really? This early?"

"Will be if I don't clean her blood now," Haf sniffed. "But, yes, it's very early so she ought to be fine. You too, by the way. You both got bled on while bleeding. Not a good idea, mixing blood."

"But it adds such a fun undercurrent of danger to a battle," Awen said wearily as Caradog helped her into the circle and down onto the ground, leaning her back against his massive chest. "Gets boring otherwise."

"Oh, Rider humour," Haf said disdainfully. Awen grinned. "All dark and about death, look. Next you'll be saying 'life's too short'. Well, yes it is, if you get blood poisoning."

"Oh, sorry," Aerona said, crouching at the edge of the circle. "She's a bit acerbic and I don't think she likes us much. She thinks we're abnormal."

"Everyone's abnormal to someone," Awen said tiredly, earning herself a calculating look from Haf. "It's fine. I've been bitten by worse."

"Dylan bites sometimes," Madog offered, sinking to the floor. Standing was far too much effort. "We muzzle him usually."

"It's true," Dylan declared. "I bite through the straps, though."

Aerona giggled her happy laugh, and Haf began the ritual. It wasn't the most pleasant of druidic procedures; it involved drinking an awful lot of water that had been mixed with various plants and things until it tasted like death in liquid form while you felt things moving in your blood, draining through your body until it was drawn into an arm where the druid cut your wrist open. Madog loathed it.

Unfortunately, Awen took it mostly very well, so he knew he was going to be shown up. She drank steadily from the cup Caradog held to her lips, only pushing it away once in the entire procedure to breathe deeply for a few seconds, steadying herself, and as Haf's hands were passing over her lungs at that point Madog felt it was more likely that the infected blood passing through her heart had interrupted her equilibrium. As Haf moved on Awen dropped her head back against Caradog's chest again, nodded, and drank. Madog was impressed.

The end went less well, though. Even with Caradog holding her firmly down she still reacted when Haf calmly opened a vein, twisting violently in his grip for a moment, but Caradog was enormous. Bears probably couldn't have broken free. The blood ran black down Awen's forearm for a few seconds, and then finally ran red, and the mood in the room lifted noticeably. Haf smiled, and sat back.

"All done," she said, her voice strangely soft after its earlier sting. "Completely done, I sorted out the rest at the same time. You need rest now."

"Yeah," Awen said, sounding drained as Caradog carefully helped her up. "Sorry about wanting to kill you at the end, there. Seems quite ungrateful of me, all told."

"And Madog says I'm an ingrate," Dylan said morosely. "He told his Phoenician that, you know."

"Really?" Adara tore her eyes away from Awen to give Madog a mock shocked look. "And Dylan with his poor eyes, there? What kind of a Wingleader are you?"

"An astute one," Menna grinned, moving to bandage up Awen's arm. "Dylan is an ingrate. Your turn, Leader."

"Tax I force-feed him!" Dylan sang, hauling Madog unceremoniously to his feet. "Now, come on, Madog. Northlander pride is at stake. Awen took that really well, so you have to drink without stopping once or we'll look like wusses."

"You need to change cups twice," Madog pointed out, rolling his eyes as he was lowered gently to the floor of the circle. "I can't drink then."

"No, so what I'm going to do is, I'm going to feed you all three at once!" Dylan said brightly. "And then we win, as long as you don't mess it up. Ready?"

"Can I have someone else?" Madog asked plaintively. Dylan grinned evilly.

He stopped drinking three times in the end, much to Dylan's dismay. The first time was the same point as Awen, just as Haf's hands passed over his chest; the strange, shifting sensation of too much heat following her hands drifted through his heart and brought with it a wave of nausea that clutched at his throat, making his mouth taste sour. His heart seemed to stutter as well, an uncomfortable feeling that left him almost restless. After that the sourness lingered in his mouth, mixing unpleasantly with the already hideous taste of the water to leave his tongue feeling too thick to keep swallowing repeatedly. Dylan called him a loser the second time, and morosely declared that they would head back into the Wars for the third. Madog made a mental note to smack him about the ear later.

He only twitched at Haf opening a vein, though, which even he was impressed by. It was a strange sort of pain, though; almost release after the distressing sensation of the heat being moved through his body, gathering strength as it went until it lurked in his forearm, burning. The sharp pain of the knife was a welcome change, particularly as the blood ran out over Madog's skin, scalding hot but leaching out the heat. The blissfully peaceful feeling of his body's healing ability being accelerated stole over him, and Haf sat back.

"And you're done," Haf said matter-of-factly. "You, hold still."

She was talking to Dylan, Madog noted absently. Her hand shot out and fastened over Dylan's eyes and Madog felt his body go rigid behind him, fingers suddenly gripping Madog's forearm hard enough to bruise. Haf seemed supremely unconcerned, her eyes calmly closing as she concentrated.

"They'll be fine," she said after a second or so. "The marks may or may not fade. Won't affect you, though. That's it. Go and get some rest, all of you."

"We're dismissed," Adara said sagaciously. "Let's not keep the druid waiting. I hope dinner's ready soon, I'm a big ball of hunger."

Which worked out rather well in the end. Both Wings wandered off to dinner and left Madog and Awen sinking gratefully onto the immeasurably comfortable sofas in the lolfa, both far too tired to go anywhere else. Aerona stayed with them, apparently switching her Tutorly Concern over to them while Dylan and Adara vanished and reappeared with food for them all. Which left them all free to talk about politics, although Madog felt he would have been happier not.

"Saxons living in Cymru," he said with weary horrified fascination. "I can't - quite believe it."

"Nor can I, and I talked to them," Awen agreed. Madog snorted.

"That's what I mean," he said. "They aren't dead. How did you do that? I couldn't have."

"I have no idea," Awen said. "I wanted to kill them all the way through. The one I nearly did. I had to be content with concussing him and nastily breaking his hand."

"Ooh, like Dylan did today," Aerona winced. "It was really horrible, although very satisfying and well-deserved."

"One of the parents promised me they'd take his eyes out for me," Dylan said, satisfied. He was polishing the sword he'd taken from a Saxon earlier. "And one of the children said my eyes look cool. I like this cheese."

"So what have we got now?" Adara asked. She was sitting on the floor beside the sofa Awen was lying on, very carefully giving proximity without contact. Madog approved. "On Flyn? Gareth's the eye-witness to him talking to a Saxon, backed up by some apparent actual Saxons, which is crazy. Attempted murder and actual murder by proxy, with Gareth's mam and grandmother, complete with log books for paper evidence and, indeed, another eye-witness. Rape and possession of a concubine. Subverting a Rider in Owain? Well, using one for Bad Things, anyway. Although can we prove that?"

"Eye-witnesses that Owain is involved with Flyn's plan in the form of Gareth et al and the apparent actual Saxons, and a lot of letters containing instructions from Flyn to Owain which I found behind that mirror," Awen said. She had her eyes closed now, and was absent mindedly winding Adara's hair around a finger. "There are letters between him and Coenred I now have, too, thanks to Alis, so Saxon collusion is there beyond a shadow of a doubt. Conspiracy for Cymru, although that one won't stick, since he's actually suggesting it as an OFP at the Archwiliad."

"He can get a caution for that," Aerona said thoughtfully, nibbling a chicken wing. "Since he's planned it far more - and far more covertly - than he should have. In conjunction with everything else it would count as a bad character reference, and would seriously weaken his defence for the rest."

"And the druids," Madog said contentedly. Body-wide accelerated healing was incredibly relaxing. It didn't even hurt as much, as long as he didn't move too much. "The druids? Surely?"

"Probs," Dylan said, holding the sword up to inspect his handiwork. "Their crazy is separate, but the late border warnings are linked. Hey, two charges there! Delaying the border warnings and not reporting child-killing eye-maiming psychos."

"Does it hurt?" Madog pressed.

"Do you?" Dylan shot back. Madog grinned.

"I wonder what they think they know?" Adara said. "What crazies. You're right, this cheese is good."

"That's a lot of evidence, though!" Aerona said brightly. "Too much, really. They'll have to convict. I wish there was more on Gwenda, mind."

"Happy birthday, Aerona," Dylan said, handing the sword across. "I hope you like the colour, but I especially hope you like the Tregwylan manufacture stamp just beneath the hilt."

"Dylan!" Aerona squealed. "You remembered! Oh, thanks, mate! That's a caution, anyway, and then I can get the trade agreement rewritten."

"I think you may have just shattered a window somewhere, Aerona," Adara said mildly. "How inconvenient. Will he go down, then?"

She addressed it to Awen, who didn't move.

"He'll be convicted, yes," she said, which was the sort of sentence that left you wincing for what was coming next. Madog sighed.

"Go on," he said. "Tell us. Why might he be convicted but not go down for his plethora of heinous crimes?"

"The wars in Saxonia," Awen sighed. "They complicate things. If what Coenred has achieved by now is too extensive, we as a country are going to have to start dealing with the Saxons. We'll most likely be at war, otherwise. And not with several distinct Saxon kingdoms, but an army comprised of warriors drawn from an entire unified country."

"So?" Madog asked, non-plussed. "Why would-?"

"Think about it," Awen said quietly. "If that is the case, and Coenred really has unified more than we realise, then we've got two options. One is to let Flyn carry on and head up his alliance with the man, to keep the armies away. The other is to help Breguswid depose her brother, thus taking on the united kingdoms herself and spreading her helpfully evolutionary influence over the rest of Saxonia which includes not attacking us."

She paused and sighed, running her free hand over her eyes.

"Or," she said, "to put it another way: option one is to trust a Cymric man to control the Saxons. Option two is to trust some Saxons to control the Saxons."

There was a silence as it sank in, and it dawned on them all that they already knew which way the Full Council would lean in that case. Not to mention the Senedd. And the Urdd. Madog swallowed.

"Academic if Coenred is struggling to unite them," Adara said neutrally. "How can we know? You said... Breguswid... was only getting her information from land traders, which is as reliable as asking Marged for a serious conversation in which she leaves her knitting needles outside."

"Yeah, about that," Awen said, opening her eyes and looking across at Madog. "Can I borrow Dylan?"

"Are you going to give him back?" Madog asked, one eyebrow raised. Awen grinned.

"Yes," she said. "I need a new Deputy, but he looks like hard work. Plus his appearance would lower the tone."

"Hey!" Dylan protested. "I'm not the one with a Casnewydd accent!" and he promptly got pelted with a cracker by Adara.

"Thanks to Owain's mirror stash," Awen said, ignoring them, "I've got several maps to various Saxon capitals where Coenred might be, plus routes of how to fly them unseen. I'm willing to bet quite a bit that Owain is in one of them, and quite a bit more that he's with Coenred. A bodyguard, I should think. And messenger."

There was another silence as Adara turned to look at Awen, her expression a mixture of rage and disgust.

"Say again?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. "Owain - Owain - is living with Saxons?"

"He must be," Awen shrugged, cupping the side of Adara's face with the hand that had been in her hair. "It's the only place left that's safe for him, where he can carry on helping with the whole nefarious plan. He thinks he's helping Cymru."

"Please let me go," Adara said, her eyes boring into Awen's. "Please. I won't - I won't kill him if you don't want me to, but -"

"I was going to send you," Awen smiled. "You, Dylan and Aerona, if you're all up for it. Once we're at the Archwiliad - Madog and I will both be needed, unfortunately, but you three are free. We need Owain back, alive and capable of being interrogated, and we need to know how much power Coenred has now."

"Ooh, a field trip," Aerona said happily. "That would be lovely!"

"Yeah, I'm in," Dylan grinned, and turned to Madog. "I promise I'll try and think of you when you're stuck with the politicians and I'm thumping Saxons."

"If we find Coenred do we kill him?" Adara asked. She'd threaded her fingers into Awen's tightly. "Would that help?"

"No, actually," Awen sighed. "Since their loyalty is to the person who is king, killing him outright might just be the catalyst for Saxonia to ride to war with us anyway in revenge. The only person who really can without being challenged is Breguswid, since he technically stole the torque - well, crown, whatever - from her."

"Lame," Dylan muttered.

"Who uses a crown?" Adara said contemptibly. "It would fall off."

"Saxons are mental," Madog sighed, staring at the ceiling. A week ago he didn't worry about any of this. A week ago life had been so simple. "Can't we just tell the Union that Breguswid is brilliant?"

"I don't think I'm that persuasive," Awen said, fingering her beads in one hand, apparently deep in thought. Aerona hugged herself.

"It's wrong, though," she said quietly. "It's so wrong. I mean... I know this woman is a Saxon and all, but what has she ever done to Cymru? Or anyone Cymric? Whereas Flyn has raped someone. He had two Cymric women tortured to death, or tried to. He's done as much damage as any individual Saxon, and he's done it from the position of a protector, one of the people supposed to be keeping Cymru safe. It's wrong."

"Yeah," Madog agreed, and he saw Awen, staring up at the ceiling, her expression frozen. "You should tell them all that. At the trial. In fact pull Alis out in front of them. I'd love to see anyone meet her and not want Flyn's testicles."

"Well, he raped her," Adara said uncertainly. "He'll be castrated, anyway, won't he?"

"Probs," Dylan shrugged. "That's a black and white law, anyway. Maybe we'll get to do it, Madog would love it."

"Shut up, Dylan."

"That would probably work, though, wouldn't it?" Aerona asked anxiously. "I mean, if Alis testifies, if someone makes the point that he's done more damage to Cymric people than the Wars? They can't just let him loose after that, can they?"

They can, Madog thought. Because if the other option was trusting a Saxon... the Council were Riders. The whole education system revolved around a hatred of Saxons. It became ingrained when you saw what happened in your first raid, the first gutted child. It was too deep an aversion for them to accept Breguswid as anything other than a last resort. If Coenred had become too powerful...

Madog looked over at Awen, who stared on at the ceiling, lost in thought while the beads swirled in her fingers.

They were different from his, he noted absently. The wires were anti-clockwise.