Cymru - Chapter 38

AERONA

"Next!" Aerona called merrily as the sun set behind them in Cymru. The forests beneath them were flattening out, the mountains levelling to hills as they dropped to just above the tree-tops, hiding themselves with the lower altitude and the gathering dusk. "One last game! I can buy... apples!"

"I want to kill you," Dylan said flatly. "Why? Why was I cursed with you?"

"Can I buy apples?" Adara asked. Dylan glared at her as Aerona tried to clap, and remembered she was holding reins.

"Yes! You can!"

"Hey, betraying our united front, there, pickle," he said pointedly, and Adara rolled her eyes.

"Last game, Dylan," she said. "I'm not some sort of unreasonable. Not when the end is so tantalisingly in metaphorical sight. Can I buy carrots?"

"Um... no," Aerona said. Dylan sniffed.

"Can I buy an apple?" he asked, his tone long-suffering enough to suggest he'd been tortured into a week of vegetable peeling. Since he was still playing, however, Aerona was relatively certain he was actually enjoying it, really. Relatively certain.

"I'm afraid not," she said regretfully, and Dylan snorted.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, I see. Like that, is it? You can buy apples, and Adara can buy apples, even though she clearly deserves no apples - she's a bad one, that one - but I can't. I see."

"It's because you're a Northlander," Adara supplied unhelpfully.

"Oh, what are you, ten?" Dylan said, pained. "Fine. Can I buy a carrot, Aerona, unreasonable guardian of the treasures?"

"Yes, actually," Aerona said brightly, and Dylan almost crowed.

"Ha!" he said wickedly. "Take that, you Southlander heathen!"

"Wait," Adara said thoughtfully. "Can I buy a carrot?"

"No, we've been over this," Dylan said sternly. "You've been told."

"I'm sure 'no means no' is a desperate mantra in your world, Dylan," Adara said serenely. "But the rest of us got the hang of it when we were six."

"You can buy a carrot," Aerona giggled, and then laughed at Dylan's look of outraged reproach.

"What?"

"A carrot but not carrots," Adara said thoughtfully. "But apples, while not an apple. Something to do with plurals?"

"Number of letters," Dylan intoned, his voice bored. "Is that it, Aerona? Say yes. If we have to keep playing this game as ranking officer I'm going to be forced to bite off your eyelids as punishment."

"Correct!" Aerona said happily. "The word has to contain an even number of letters."

"That is so unfair," Adara declared darkly. "I did all of the deductive work there, and Dylan just sweeps in at the end like a freeloader."

"Hey, I worked out the rule!" Dylan protested. Adara snorted.

"Yeah, after I'd done the hard work in Aerona's extremely bizarrely discriminatory shop, which seems to be owned by a crazy," she said. "And, for the record, I'm never entering any shop you might have any part in in the future, Aerona."

"Seconded, my sister," Dylan grinned. "And I want it known that much though your eyelids may be safe, I'm still going to punish you somehow. I'm considering making you kiss Madog."

Aerona laughed.

"Somehow," she grinned, "I don't think I'm his type, Dylan."

"You're not, at that," Dylan muttered. "Bugger. I'll think of something."

"You can't think," Adara said gaily, as though joining in with a joke Dylan had already made to that effect. "What a one you are."

"Oh, ganging up, now," Dylan said, mock-miserably. "Well fine. Both of you it is. Are we there yet?"

"Have we stopped yet?" Adara threw back witheringly, studying a page carefully in the air currents. "Um... nearly. This way."

She turned them slightly north, moving into point position without any word from any of them, and five minutes later they dropped into a clearing at the top of a river valley, a Saxon settlement of some kind nestled at the opposite end of the hills, about twenty minute's walk away by the looks of it. Briallu snorted, satisfied, as they dropped to the grassy floor of the clearing, hidden from view by the surrounding trees, and Aerona bit her lip guiltily. Briallu didn't do much extended flying normally. In the last few days she'd flown the distance of about five trips around Cymru. Not that she seemed much worse for the experience; as Aerona unclipped the harness and hopped down the mare seemed mostly interested in grazing, her tail swishing contentedly.

"Right," Dylan said, hitting the floor and stretching, reins in one hand. "Courtesy of your boy Owain we know that no one walks up here, and there are no paths to challenge him, so we'll tether the merod here. Adara, go and find dinner. Aerona, go and make shelter. Me, go and sort merod. Chop chop."

"Get the fire going," Adara grinned, opening the door of the small cage hanging in place of a saddlebag on one side of her harness and withdrawing the hooded kite inside. She transferred the bird to her wrist and slipped the hood off its head. "We'll be back in a bit, like the efficients we are."

"Me will handle fire, also," Dylan nodded sagaciously as Adara left. "You just find us beds."

"Your allocation of labour is both fair and just, oh wise one," Aerona offered, grinning. She ran a practised eye over the undergrowth; water of some kind was presumably that way, the prevailing winds were that way...

"Hey, yeah, loving your effort and everything, but revenge will be mine, old friend," Dylan said, deadpan. "It will be swift, and unexpected, and I shall enjoy it so greatly I will regale Madog with tales of it until he has to force me to shut up."

"He doesn't have to anyway?" Aerona called back, moving into the trees. Flat ground here, the tree branches forked just right, mark the distances... "How much of a palace do you want me to build, by the way? One each, or one to share?"

"You two can share," Dylan called dismissively from the clearing. "I require mine to be the size of a Residence. And inlaid with marble. Or, you know; we can all share. Far be it from me to be an unreasonble."

"Very magnanimous," Aerona giggled, eyeing a bank of moss. "One it is. And I can't stretch to marble, I'm afraid, but I can offer you triple insulation or more and an elevated floor."

"Yeah?" Dylan asked, impressed. "Deal. The bags are down, take what you need."

She'd planned ahead, and packed a ball of strong twine and an oiled leather sheet, both of which Aerona pulled out of a saddlebag now before setting them aside and starting the hunt for branches. Predictably, Dylan joined her after about five minutes, looking for firewood.

"One sheet and one string," he said, loading sticks into the increasing bundle on one shoulder. "That's all. But you reckon you can offer me triple insulation and an elevated floor."

"Do you see this sash?" Aerona asked, amused. "And these beads? Of course I can. I only brought those because they make things slightly easier."

"And you didn't bring extra equipment like a normal human being because... you're some kind of enormous loser?"

"Because we wanted to travel light and needed the space for other things," Aerona giggled, dragging at a long branch entwined in the brambles. "Like cooking equipment. How do you have any friends, Dylan?"

"Ah, young one," Dylan said, his tone fatherly as he gripped the branch with her and pulled. "The time is not yet right for you to learn my secrets. Their burden is too great for one such as you. And now, confess. Why else did you bring nothing else for the shelter, hmm?"

"Well, aren't you sharp? Gold star!" Aerona grinned. The branch slid free, and she stood it upright next to Dylan. It ended just over half a metre above his head. "Perfect. Um... because if you make it out of whatever you find around you it's more like a game."

"Now, Aerona," Dylan said, his voice a parody of a lecturer. "Survival is not a game, it is serious -"

"You," Aerona accused, stabbing him in the chest with one finger, "play games while you fight, Dylan! I'm not that weird!"

"Does that keep the nightmares away?" Dylan grinned. His eyes were particularly intimidating in the gloom. "Of course you are. Your shop-keeping is psychotic. Will there be rules to who gets to sleep in the shelter, Aerona? Am I going to have a problem?"

"Yes," she giggled, carefully gathering up her branches and starting to trudge back to her chosen campsite. After a second the wood lightened as Dylan picked up the ends behind her, sharing the weight. "But it's only that your name has to contain an alpha, so it's alright."

Building the shelter was enjoyable work. Aerona ignored Dylan's raised eyebrow and spread the oiled sheet over the cleared ground rather than using it as roofing, planting a forked branch at one end and laying the long branch between the fork and the floor. The shorter branches were next, leaned against the long branch all the way down to form a frame. Aerona finished, and eyed up the width.

"Will three fit in there?" she asked critically. Dylan looked up from adding stones to the steadily growing fire, glancing at the shelter frame.

"Ought to," he sniffed, rising from his crouch and wandering over. "Looks good. Do you think Adara will hunt us some cake?"

"I don't think Saxonia is that foreign," Aerona giggled, lashing the branches in place with the string. "But hares could be on the menu."

"Do you think she'll hunt us a cow?"

"With a bird?"

"Maybe she'll hunt us a bear."

"With a bird?"

"Madog says I expect too much sometimes."

"I can't imagine why."

The thinner branches were next, piled neatly on until there were no gaps left, and then the insulation began. She opted for bracken first, followed by a layer of dry leaves; after some careful searching she found some muddy ground not far away, so the next layer was leaves covered in wet mud. More sticks next, then more bracken...

"Basically we get to look like giant beavers," Dylan said chirpily, setting down a container of water, and then glared at Aerona as she looked hopefully up. "No. Foot down, no. I'm not six, petal, and I'm not pretending to be a bloody beaver."

"People are so cruel," Aerona said sadly. "This is why I prefer the company of six-year-olds, you know. They're so much more accomodating than thirty-year-olds."

"Thirty?" Dylan snorted. "I'm forty five by my count."

"Really?" Aerona asked. "Do you know? I think I'm twenty seven."

"Deduction," Dylan shrugged. "About that. I could be wrong, but I doubt it, because my skills are immense and I'm excellent."

"Yes," Aerona said thoughtfully. "Modesty is one of the more difficult skills for you, though, isn't it?"

"Madog says I must practise very hard," Dylan said morosely. "And then one day I might learn. Ooh, cool shelter! Now they'll never see us."

"And triple insulated," Aerona said proudly, stepping back. The shelter looked very much like a long, wedge-shaped, overgrown bank. "And it's water-proof. I'm doing the floor and then it's done."

"Just as well," Dylan said reflectively, his restless eyes darting upwards to the canopy above them. The sun had set fifteen minutes before, the surrounding trees filtering out a lot of the weak dusk light, and the world had bled to a monochrome tableau of greys and shadows beyond the golden, comforting glow of their firelight. Bats flew past above them, and somewhere into the trees an owl called. "You won't be able to see it soon. Wonder if Adara will fall into a ditch?"

"I doubt it," Aerona giggled, starting to strip moss off the bank she'd seen earlier. "She seems fairly sensible, you know."

It was a small shelter, so it only took five minutes to fill the floor with ten inches of browse, more than enough to keep them so far off the ground the rising cold would never reach them. Carefully, Aerona topped it off with moss and bracken, and then climbed in on hands and knees as the sky above faded to a rich, deep blue, the stars sailing out. It was beautifully springy inside, and noticeably warmer.

"I'm done!" she called happily. "Elevated floor! For all your outdoor comfort needs."

"Not all of them," Dylan's voice grinned craftily from just behind her, and suddenly his arm snaked around her waist and flung her down onto her back. Aerona squealed, and giggled as he leaned over her on all fours, his beads hanging down just far enough to tickle her jaw.

"Dylan," Aerona scolded, grinning. "We're in the middle of Saxonia!"

"Madog says I'm a punishment by myself," he said, his lips just brushing hers. "So I'll have to do, as payback for three days of playing that bloody game."

"We were only flying for an hour and -"

He kissed in much the same manner as he entered rooms, as though he owned the place and was instantly at home, expecting to be welcomed. It wasn't, strictly speaking, dominance, although clearly he had his own measure of that. It was more like... authority. A certainty that he wouldn't be challenged.

"An hour and a half," Aerona finally managed when he'd let her. Above her Dylan settled down, his body pressing against hers, all hard muscle and strength. "That's not -"

He pressed one finger to her chin, tipping her head to the side.

"You're beautiful, you know," he whispered into her ear, making her shiver. "You probably haven't worked that out, because you hang out with bantam humans. But you are."

"Bizarrely enough," Aerona said softly, "so are your eyes."

She cupped his face with both hands, holding him obediently still as she ran her thumbs gently across the black, scarred skin beneath his eyes.

"Thank you for saving me," Dylan said, his voice suddenly intense, gaze locked onto hers for once. Aerona squirmed.

"It's fine," she said, awkwardly. "I mean, thanks for going in first and not letting me be blinded and such, it was thoroughly decent, you know? It could have gone either way."

"Oh, take a compliment, would you?" Dylan grinned, and pressed one powerful thigh between her legs without warning, grinding into her. Aerona bit back a moan, arching into the touch. "You did well, I still have my mind. No jokes, please, flower, I get enough from Madog."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she panted, threading her fingers into his hair. "Er... Adara will - "

"If she's quick, she can join in," Dylan grinned. "I don't mind sharing you."

He was the same in bed as he was kissing; the same as he was with everything, it seemed, and Aerona decided it was very much a Deputy thing. Dylan was a man totally accustomed to giving orders, totally at home being in charge. But, of course, in a sexual context she was treated to the other side of the Wingleader coin; the whole experience was about her, not him. This was Dylan taking care of her. This was a reward, not a punishment. It was thoroughly charming.

Gods, he didn't shut up, though. There was, apparently, a switch somewhere inside Dylan's head that he didn't have access to. It was probably just as well that Adara still wasn't back once they'd finished. There was a good chance it would have been the chattiest night of her life between the two of them. And he kept getting bored in one position, until Aerona threatened him with a round of 'I-Spy' unless he stayed still for more than thirty seconds.

Finally they lay contentedly against each other in the dark, her back against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

"Do you think we'll find Owain?" Aerona asked once they'd caught their breath. She was wide awake and hungry, now. "Here in Saxonia?"

"Yeah," Dylan said languidly. He had hold of one set of her beads between his fingers, rotating them gently. "Guy's a tool, and thinks he's accomplishing something here. It makes sense."

"What do you think he thinks he's doing?"

"Is this about to be a riddle?" Dylan asked. His eyes were still closed, voice sleepy. "Is the real question going to be what do you think I think Madog thinks I think he thinks Awen thinks he's doing?"

"Ooh, good question!" Aerona said happily, rolling onto her stomach and propping herself up half on her elbows, half on Dylan's chest. "It's like a really complicated game."

"Which we're not playing," Dylan said sternly. "Countrywide stability? I don't know. You're the expert now. What do you think he thinks you think he thinks he's doing?"

"Oh," Aerona said. "Well. He's not a Rider. He's self-motivated. He's bought into Flyn's plan because it feeds his ego and gives him a chance to show Awen that he's cleverer and a better Wingleader than her."

"Say that again?"

Adara appeared at the entrance to the shelter in a crouch, a brace of hares in one hand. She was silhouetted against the fire, her face lost to darkness, but her voice was dangerous. Aerona sighed, and Dylan's arm tightened around her slightly, seemingly involuntarily. He otherwise didn't move.

"He's wrong, obviously," Aerona offered. "But I think that's why -"

"Of course it is," Adara spat, turning her head to the trees, but Aerona knew the rancour wasn't directed at her. "Because never mind all evidence to the contrary, never mind that she led him for over twenty years, never mind that she loved him anyway, and now she's - "

She broke off, pausing a moment, and stood abruptly.

"Adara," Dylan said quietly. "Come in here."

"No," Adara said, her voice being forced back to calm. "It's okay, I'm just -"

"In," Dylan repeated, and this time it was very subtly an order. And that was a Wingleader gift, Aerona marvelled. His tone was still completely non-confrontational, non-demanding, still tinged with sleepiness, still compassionate; but now it was an order. Adara was still for a moment more, and then dropped down again, moving into the shelter. Aerona rolled away from Dylan, ignoring the pleasant loss of warmth, and they pulled her down between them.

"We're going to catch him," Dylan said matter-of-factly, pulling Adara into his arms. Aerona hugged her on the other side, the leather uniform cold against her skin. "He's a loser. In the history of living creatures losing stuff, no one has ever lost at everything this badly. Guy's going to get lost on his way to the afterlife, even. We'll catch him."

"I really, really hope so," Adara said, quietly bitter. "I want to render him. More than my oh so pretty words can convey. But even more than that, I want to take him back to the Union entirely unharmed and drop him in chains in front of Awen for her to render."

"He'll be here somewhere," Aerona said, her heart aching for her. She found one set of Adara's beads in the dark and closed her fist around them. "And we'll find him. He's here fairly brazenly, the people will know something. It'll be unusual for them to encounter a Rider."

"What's the real problem, though?" Dylan asked, stroking a hand calmly up and down Adara's side. "You can tell Aunty Dylan."

"I don't want her to die," Adara said wearily, sounding lost. "Not like this. No battle, no illness, she's just... fading away, nothing we can do. And it's his fault! Him, and Flyn, and..."

And you can't hold her, Aerona thought. And you can't fully avenge her if Flyn stays where he is. And he probably will.

"It's funny," Adara said tiredly. "On our way home from Aberystwyth, I told Awen that bad luck comes in threes, and she'd had all three. She said she only counted two. And now this."

"What were they?" Aerona asked quietly, running her fingertips across Adara's scalp. "All three?"

"Flyn being an odious," Adara sighed, leaning into Aerona's hand slightly. "Owain being a big oily freak with the morals of a bear. And, the one she hadn't counted; Lord Gwilym."

"Epic fail," Dylan muttered. "I was hoping I hadn't seen that."

"So was I," Aerona said sadly. "They were so cute together."

"Oh, yes," Adara said miserably. "She smiled with him. Her genuine smile, not her for-the-outside-world-only smile."

"So, you seem to know all about Owain now?" Dylan broke in suddenly.

"What?" Aerona asked, taken aback. "Well, not all about. I mean, it's mostly guesswork on my part."

"That's fine," Dylan said. "Life is obviously mostly guesswork on his, the loser. Why did he want Lord Gwilym dead?"

"Ooh, scandalous question!" Adara murmured. "Let's gossip like kitchen staff."

"He didn't," Aerona said. She'd thought hard about this. "It was a cover. He wanted Awen to join him. He set that up to display the seriousness of the situation to her."

"But..." Adara paused. "Why?"

"Because he - " Aerona paused. "Look. He's an idiot. Let's all agree on that now. He thought about himself more than the country, he clearly had appalling social skills and I'm told he wasn't an incredibly attractive person."

"There's a mild description," Adara remarked sourly. "There have been more attractive fleas."

"Hey, I know some mighty fine fleas," Dylan said mock-indignantly.

"Very well," Adara said. "I shall rescind my comments re: fleas. You have my full apologies."

"I accept and appreciate that," Dylan said, mollified. Aerona giggled. "Anyway, yes, boy had his arse where his face should have been, let's move on. I believe we're on: why?"

"Well," Aerona said, fighting her imagination not to supply an image, "in spite of all that, you see, he does sort of think like a Rider. Not properly," she added hastily, in case either of them errupted at the sacrilege. "He's not a Rider, never was. But in some ways he thinks like one. So, firstly, whatever the truth of the matter, he genuinely thinks he's helping Cymru. That this work is important."

"Tool," Dylan said. "Oh. I appear to have inadvertantly said the word 'tool' aloud. I can't think why."

Wonderfully, it made Adara laugh. Aerona grinned in the dark, and hugged her tighter.

"And secondly," she continued, "Awen was his Wingleader. Madog was right, back in Aberystwyth; it's a complicated relationship. You can not get on with them, hate them even, as much as you want; but at the end of the day if they give an order you follow it-"

"Sometimes Madog orders me to kill myself so he can have peace," Dylan said. "I never do, though."

"Clearly," Adara said, "you have a special relationship, you weirdo."

"Except they don't, you see?" Aerona said earnestly. "Because even you, Dylan, deeply cynical though you are; if you do something and Madog praises you for it, deep down, some part of you will always clap its metaphorical hands and be pleased, won't it? Like a dog with its master. We all do that. Wingleaders are important."

"Don't make me admit to that," Dylan said, alarmed. "My cool, hard reputation will crumble."

"Oh, Dylan," Adara said lightly and mock-sympathetically, patting his hand. "You don't have one."

"A Saxon thought I was a demon, I'll have you know," Dylan sniffed. "Hey, is this true of Deputies too? Does anyone want me to pat them on the head?"

"Of course not," Adara said. "You have germs."

"Yes it is," Aerona giggled. "To a lesser extent, admittedly, but yes. Although possibly not for Adara."

"Owain never praised us, really," Adara shrugged. "He would sometimes, but it never felt sincere. More like he was doing it because Deputies Say Nice Things. It was always Awen we wanted to hear it from."

"I imagine your Wing like getting back-handed compliments from you, Dylan," Aerona said thoughtfully. "Since that's generally how you communicate."

"What, like, 'Oh well done, you didn't mess it up'?" Dylan asked. "I hope so. That's what I tell them."

"Even when they do mess it up?" Adara grinned, and Dylan snorted.

"No," he said. "Then I smack them upside the head and tell them they owe me a pint. Oh, I rock so hard at leadership, baby."

"We've sailed wildly off-topic," Adara said, turning to Aerona. "Like mapless verbal sailors. Where were we? Owain thinking a bit like a Rider and so liking Awen telling him how intelligent and well-endowed he was."

"Yes," Aerona agreed. "Which is the whole point, see? He spent all those years plotting away with Flyn and thinking he was delivering Cymru unto her salvation from forces unnamed, but ultimately -"

"Ah!" Adara said. "He needed Awen to validate it. Even though he thought he should be Wingleader, it made no difference because she was his."

"Gold star!" Aerona said happily. "Or - well, maybe not, since you're not six-"

"So I can't have a gold star?" Adara asked, disappointed. "My life just isn't working out right now."

"So he didn't want to kill Lord Gwilym?" Dylan asked, apparently stuck on the idea. Adara snorted.

"Are you listening at all?" she demanded. "No. It was a creepy Awen thing. I have no trouble believing this, either."

"I don't think so, anyway," Aerona shrugged. "I could be wrong. Although I don't think he actually cared if Lord Gwilym died or not. He's not politically important to Flyn one way or the other, since he wasn't involved in Lady Marged's crazy scheme of win and kittens and Aberystwyth is nowhere near the border. Alive he's useful, but not vital. Dead he's no great loss."

"And that's the end of the mystery," Dylan said, his voice sing-song. "Right! Dinner time! And then we're going out, boys and girls."

The reason for Adara's lateness back to camp became swiftly apparent; she'd already skinned and partly butchered the hares and had managed to find a few wild leeks from somewhere, which Aerona found wildly impressive. As expected, though, years of being in Alpha Wings had left neither Dylan nor Adara with any skill at actually cooking beyond making-the-meat-not-be-raw, so Aerona took over and made kebabs that she drizzled with a little bit of honey from her own supply. They also had the added bonus of being far faster to cook than a stew, leaving them with plenty of time to plan.

"Right," Dylan said, rubbing his palms together with mock-enthusiasm in the firelight. "So! Aerona. You look Phoenician. Still got that sugar?"

"Are those things related or are you just rambling?" Adara asked mildly, and dodged a clip around the ear from Dylan.

"Yes," Aerona giggled. "What's my cover?"

"Anything you like," Dylan shrugged. "But take the sugar, because it adds to the idea that you're a trader. You're approaching head on, because if our boy Owain sees you he won't suspect you. Find a tavern, be a weary traveller. Ask around. If you think people don't want to talk about Owain, ask about Coenred, and vice versa, understand?"

"Whereas you're going in sideways?" Aerona asked. Dylan grinned.

"I'm lateral," he said. "The world cannot understand me. I will be unseen. If anyone does see me, I'll be a demon."

"What about me?" Adara asked doubtfully. "I don't look Phoenician or a demon. And I've never had to be stealthy."

"You look Celtic," Aerona said thoughtfully, inspecting Adara's face. "As far as I know the Saxons are friends with Dál Riada. Can you speak any Erinnish? Alban?"

"Bits, that's all," Adara said, pulling a face. "I can get by in Punic, but..."

"Well then, pickle," Dylan said, stretching. "It's up to you. You can either go with Aerona and try to pass as a retarded trader or you can stay with the merod and kill anyone who may accidently stumble across them. I like honey."

"I want to be there if you find him, though," Adara said wretchedly. "As painful as it is to admit, he can actually fight very well."

"We're not taking him tonight," Aerona said earnestly. "We're just finding him now. We'll plan once we have. And we have at least four more 'cities' to try after this one."

"True," Adara sighed. "I'll guard the merod, then."

"Awesome," Dylan said, standing. "In that case, let's get Aerona changed and go. Oh, and remember: the name not to mention in these parts is Madog."

**********

Culture shock struck as she entered the tavern; there were no bards. A brief glance around for the bar revealed no bards standing and waiting to play, either, but there was a slowly roasting pig over the fire that a man was turning on a spit. And the gender balance was thrown. As Aerona threaded her way to the bar she observed the high number of men around her, drinking in small groups loudly. There were women there, fortunately, stopping her from standing out from the crowd too much, but most of them were of some race other than Saxon. The conversation buzzed around her, paying her no heed.

In fact, most of the women looked Celtic, their clothes Dál Riadan, strongly suggesting that they were land traders. The Saxons around them threw them suspicious glances occasionally, which Aerona noted she wasn't getting. They trusted Phoenicians, it seemed. They were less keen on Cymric look-a-likes.

And then there was the fact that she was surrounded by Saxons. She thanked every deity listening that Adara hadn't come. Even Aerona was feeling suddenly twitchy, ingrained instincts and teachings raging at her, telling her she had to fight her way free. Adara fought them all the time. It would have been a far stronger urge for her.

"What'll it be, friend?" the barman asked in Punic, and Aerona looked up. He was in his fifties, and missing an arm and an eye. She forced herself to smile.

"A mead if you have one, thank you," she said. "It is hard to come by back home. I look forward to my trips here mostly for the drink!"

"Aye," the man grinned, pulling out a tankard from beneath the bar and placing it onto a small metal shelf beneath the barrel to pour one-handed. "You're not the first I've heard say so. Nothing like a local delicacy to bring in tourists, I find."

"It's certainly helpful," Aerona agreed, watching the tankard fill, and carefully weighed her options. Barkeeps were excellent sources of information if you asked them just right. The trick was to get onto their wavelength; the risk was missing it. "How late are you open until, my friend?"

"Oh, a few hours yet," he smiled over his shoulder. "No rush. You been travelling a while?"

"It sometimes feels that way," Aerona said wryly, and he laughed. "Mostly, I am simply finding this trip a strange experience. I have visited Saxonia before, of course, but it is changed from my last journey. It has been exhausting simply learning the new social boundaries."

"Aye," the barman nodded. "For us as well, if I'm honest, friend. We've always fought, kingdoms between each other like. But we've never..."

"Conquered?" Aerona suggested. The barman snorted.

"That's about the extent of it," he nodded, and for the tiniest, briefest of moments, Aerona saw him wrinkle his nose, and found her way in. "That's four kingdoms on the border under one king, now. Three more inland. One king. Never known it before."

"It is a sizable undertaking," Aerona nodded. "And yes, very different, so I thought. I found it very unexpected in Saxonia."

"And then some," a large man beside Aerona growled, and she fought tooth and nail to control her impulse to attack him. "It's not Saxon, you know."

"Ah," the barman sniffed, bringing the mead over to Aerona. She carefully selected a Phoenician coin to pay with. "Pay him no attention, friend. He's traditional."

"Indeed?" Aerona asked politely, sipping the mead. The man sniffed, glaring at the barman.

"You know how many generations back I can trace my family tree?" he asked sourly. "Fifteen. And until our new Great King," he raised his tankard in mock-salute, "I lived in the same way each of them did. That's Saxon, Phoenician. That's what we are."

All of which was utterly, wildly abhorrent to Aerona's cultural and religious views. She hastily reminded herself that Breguswid was different, and didn't knife him.

"So your people are displeased with your new state?" Aerona asked instead. The barman picked up a dirty rag, wiping it along the bar top.

"Well, there it gets complicated," he said, his plaited moustache quirking over his smile. "Some are, some aren't. And of those who aren't, opinions differ."

"Yes, I received this impression elsewhere," Aerona said as wryly as she could. "This makes the trading climate uncertain! So... you and others disapprove, because your new life is different from your old one?"

"It's against everything we've held dear for generations," the large man spat, draining his tankard and throwing it to the barman, who caught it one handed. Aerona nodded, and didn't knife him.

"I see," she said. "Then, some are happy with this change, and like your new king very much. And some disapprove because...?"

She let it trail off in the barman's direction as he poured out more beer for the large angry man.

"Some of us," he said very carefully, "much like the ones who are happy now; some of us feel that maybe Saxonia could be greater than she currently is."

"For fuck's sake," the angry man muttered, but he said no more because he wanted his beer. The barman gave him an impassive glance.

"The fact is, what worked once will not work forever more," he said. "We have a rich heritage, no doubt about it. But that should mean we are making our mark upon the world. We are not. And in the war against Cymru we are going nowhere as we are."

"They can't fight us off forever," the angry man snorted, and Aerona didn't knife him.

"No," the barman said shortly. "But before they lose they'll march on us here. Trust me on this one. We're alive through their generosity. And believe me, I know."

His bitterness was like a lance. Aerona struggled with herself, and lost.

"May I ask?" she said quietly. "Your wounds? They are from your border conflicts?"

"Oh, aye," the barman said darkly. "I went with three brothers that day. And around eighty others. I was left alive to carry a message back home. Not that the words mattered," he added scornfully. "I was a message myself. The only survivor from eighty men against one single Wing of Riders."

"A single Wing?" Aerona asked, wrestling the glee out of her tone to leave it sympathetically fascinated. The barman nodded, carrying the beer back to the angry man.

"The Alpha Wing," he said, smiling with his mouth only. "His lord and highness Alpha Wingleader Madog. By his sword I lost my arm and eye, and by his grace I was allowed home."

He picked up his rag and resumed his spreading the dirt more thinly around the bartop.

"But I learned the lesson," he went on grimly. "I've no love for Cymru, I'll happily admit, but he taught me a lesson that day. We've lost our honour. They've not taken it. We've thrown it away. We march against them again and again, futile every time, and it's embarrassing. We've become an embarrassment, haven't we, Phoenician? What does the rest of the world say about us?"

"The rest of the world?" Aerona asked carefully. "It is... bemused, my friend. We do not laugh at you, please do not misunderstand me, but we do not understand you."

"We're protecting our heritage," the angry man snarled, and Aerona didn't knife him.

"We're drowning in it," the barman said flatly. "The world has changed while we have remained. We've been left behind."

"This is generally the ouside view," Aerona nodded mildly. "You are not a joke. But you are a curiosity."

"Ha!" The barman grinned his broken grin. "Well put. I think we need to change, friend, and I'm a long way from being the only one. And uniting under one ruler... could conceivably work, I feel. But not, I think, this one."

"And we agree on that," the angry man grinned, swaying slightly. Aerona wondered how much he'd had to drink.

"Agreement is a fine thing," she smiled instead. "For what reasons do you dislike your king, then?"

"He shouldn't be a king," Angry Man laughed roughly. Aerona didn't stab him.

"In fact, he shouldn't," the barman said. "I think our society needs some adapting, but rules of kingship should remain, and his claim on his own throne is now false. He was only a thane in his kingdom. His sister was the wife of the king. After the king was torn limb from limb with his own sword she became queen, and herself wanted to adapt her kingdom. As her brother he exiled her for this -"

"Ah," Aerona said, and her brain cheered wildly. "But having exiled her he then did the same thing himself by uniting your kingdoms."

"Exactly!" Angry Man said angrily, thumping the bar top. "He's got no more right to rule than I have. We might as well have the woman. No offense, Phoenician."

"Ah, none taken!" Aerona said, and didn't knife him. "So, which was his kingdom? Originally?"

"South of here," the barman nodded. "Most southerly kingdom along the border. Not that he seems to be there much. He's usually up in this end of his empire these days with that pet Rider of his."

Don't react, Aerona ordered herself. Because that was massive news. And there was no way she wouldn't have heard it already as a land trader, and would react with anything other than gossipy fascination.

"Ah, yes!" she said, sipping the mead. "Yes, so I hear! Dare I ask what your opinion of this is?"

"I don't have the words, Phoenician," the barman said, his mutilated face suddenly filled with furious loathing. "The stupidity - the arrogance of it. They will come for that Rider. They will come for him and they won't leave a brick standing, and we won't have a Saxonia left to adapt or maintain."

"What does this Rider do here?" Aerona asked, genuinely curious. "Does he ever leave your king's side?"

There was a pause as both men glanced at each other and Aerona wondered if she'd overstepped the mark when the barman leaned in close, a move that would have failed the Intelligencer test for him.

"There are rumours," he said quietly. Angry Man leaned in too, his face grave. "It's said he stays with King Coenred at all times but... well. They move around Saxonia, as I say, travelling between towns. And wherever they go, it's said that people are found dead the next day. People who were speaking out against the king. In Hereford it was a roomful of twenty, door bolted from within, and half of them grown men."

"Could be just lies and stories," Angry Man said darkly. "But there's grains of truth to things. That Rider's a traitor; I reckon he'll do whatever the king tells him to stay here."

"A shame he won't be able to fight off the combined Wings of the border when they come," the barman spat. "I tell you. An arm and an eye, I lost. I don't like to think of what he'll lose before they're done with him."

Well, that was true enough. So many people were after Owain's head.

"But for now he kills the enemies of the king," Aerona murmured. "But you have told me yourself this evening, my friends, that you do not support your king? Does this not concern you?"

"Ha!" Angry Man said contemptuously, sitting up again. Aerona didn't knife him. "If he killed every man not supporting them there would be precious few Saxons left! No. We disagree; we are not dissidents. We'll start no social revolutions against him!"

"Ah," Aerona nodded. "But there are those who would challenge him, and these he kills."

"There are a lot of them, too," the barman said quietly. He hadn't leaned back with Angry Man. "So I hear. It's why the Rider has to kill them; they're a very real threat. Especially since, with a unified kingdom now, they can meet up more easily than they could before."

"This is why I don't worry so much!" Angry Man said. "The king will bring about his own downfall, as will whoever comes next. Ultimately, true Saxonia shall prevail. It always has."

"Have you had the chance to meet them yourselves yet?" Aerona asked as Angry Man enthusiastically finished his drink. "The king and his Rider?"

"Not yet," the barman smiled thinly. "But soon. He's scheduled to be arriving here in five days. He's on tour, you might say. On his way north."

And that, Aerona reflected, was just about all she needed to know here; because now it would be a simple matter of checking the map and working out where they would be tomorrow. Angry Man hammered the bar with his fist for his next drink, and Aerona didn't knife him.