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.

Cymru - Chapter 31

AERONA

"Ooh, hello!" Aerona said brightly as Haf arrived in the Landing Tower. "I was hoping it would be you! Do you like games?"

"You're obscenely chirpy," Haf told her, running a critical eye over her and the merod. Aerona sighed.

"You're depressingly not," she said sadly. "But you should try it, really. It makes life happier."

"Happier?" Haf raised an eyebrow. "We're about to go and find a group of insane druids, why would I be happy?"

"It's sunny," Aerona said defensively. "We could be doing it in the rain."

"True, actually." Haf cocked her head to one side, examining Aerona carefully. "I hate that you think you're normal. I may as well tell you now, if we're going to be working together."

"You - what?"

"I hate that you have no chance of ever being normal, even if it were allowed," Haf continued. "And I especially hate that it's not. But, most of all, I hate that you think you're happy this way."

Aerona stared at her.

"I think," she said cautiously, "that you lost me somewhere around the first time you said the word 'normal'. And then the word 'normal' started to lose all meaning."

"Yes, because it has so much meaning for you anyway," Haf said, rolling her eyes. "No. You're so fucked up even the Greeks don't have a word for it. And they gave me your file, you're a mild case. But I'm glad that you're anti-torture. Well done."

"You know it's unfair to say all of this without explaining it," Aerona said reasonably. Haf shrugged, the indigo robe shifting about her in the breeze that blew in from the runway.

"You genuinely would not understand," she said, reaching an arm out for the reins. The loose sleeve of the robe slid back, exposing a small tattoo of an anti-clockwise spiral on her inner wrist. "So? Shall we go? I also hate flying, you know."

It was a good job, then, that Aerona had been provided with the most placid and sweet-tempered gelding possible to give her; although even if Haf had been the sort to turn up with a full set of flying leathers and a smile Aerona still would have given her an easy meraden. Intelligencer or not, Haf wasn't a Rider, and just didn't have the practice.

She helped her mount up and buckle on the harness. Despite wearing what amounted to a long skirt and sitting astride a large animal, Haf's robe still managed to look completely normal, hanging easily down to her ankles. Aerona decided that druids had magic clothes. It was the only possible answer.

"Comfy," Haf commented sourly as she lowered her goggles. Aerona sprang onto Briallu's back, a stable hand materialising to help. "Where first?"

"Casnewydd, or thereabouts." Aerona thought of the list in her pocket, and sighed. "Cas-Gwent specifically. I want - "

"The children first?" Haf asked, surprised. Aerona thought she detected a note of approval in her tone. "Not the druids?"

"I think the children have waited long enough," Aerona said, trotting Briallu forward to the runway as the stable hand finished and vanished. "They need help. And if they can give us a clear memory of what happened, it might help us."

"Received guilt, more like," Haf muttered, but without much bite. "Riders. You didn't kill that boy, you know."

"Of course I know," Aerona said, but uneasily. She did feel - odd - about poor Dewi. It was just so wrong. The first duty of a Rider was to protect Cymru and its people. For a Rider to kill a Cymric child... it was just such a reversal of the natural order of things, of the bedrock of ideals that Aerona's life was built upon. She felt guilty on Owain's behalf.

She passed into the sunshine of the runway, and smiled. After the rainstorm the weather had cleared right up, and the sunlight warmed Aerona to her bones. The thick fragrances of grass and hay drifted in on the clean scent of the wind, and the cloud and mist had cleared; far to the west was the shine of the sea, while Eryri reared beneath them. Aerona grinned, and urged Briallu on. She loved flying in any weather, but she really did like the sun.

Briallu's wings unfolded and she leapt lightly into the air, gliding lazily onto a thermal. After a moment Haf drifted in beside her, and they wheeled about and flew south.

"How was Iona when you left?" Aerona asked once they'd put some distance between themselves and the Union. Haf sniffed.

"Stronger now that wet boy of hers is there," she said. "In outlook, anyway. Which counts for a lot. Not so sure about him, mind."

"What do you mean?" Aerona asked, surprised.

"Bit of a shock to see her," Haf said. "Well, it would be, really. I was shocked, and she's not my mother. If you're wanting him to testify still, mind, you'd better be certain that Lord Flyn - " she spat the name "- will go down afterwards. Otherwise, I suspect he won't say a word."

"Oh dear," Aerona said. That was problematic. As lovely as Awen was, Aerona doubted she'd take kindly to Gareth retracting his statement, and Awen was quite willing to torture people herself. "Um - you said you might have to amputate?"

"No further news," Haf said, and sighed irritably. "It's all down to how well the bones mend. Even with druidic help to sort of... nudge them along three times a day, I won't really be able to tell for at least a week, I shouldn't think. If most of them knit cleanly, I'll see about relocating that shoulder. The worry is the elbow."

"Who dislocates elbows?" Aerona shuddered. "What a complete psychopath. Although he is also a child killer, so actually I think I'm reacting with more surprise than I should."

"He's not right anymore," Haf said darkly. "I won't speak for who he was before; a bit of a prick I'm told, but that's aside. He went up a mountain, alone, at night. It wasn't him who came back down."

"Well and creepily put." And yet, Twm ap Llywelyn had certified Owain as sane and healthy and ready to maim Saxons. "I have to ask; is it possible that Twm could just have missed it?"

"Definitely not." Haf raised an eyebrow. "This is where the semantics are important. You, people who aren't druids, you say that after a night alone on a mountain what comes down will be either a poet, a madman or dead. Druids don't say that, though."

"'It wasn't him who came back down,'" Aerona repeated, and Haf nodded.

"We can see what happens, Rider," she said. "So the three options are different. It's all about the strength of the mind. The corpse was far too weak, and died of its joy and terror. The poet carries the mountains back down inside their mind, and keeps them until they die. But the third - the 'madman' - the third leaves their mind inside the mountains. And that leaves a space. Something else gets in."

"Creepy again," Aerona nodded. "I hope you don't work with children. I realise I shall regret asking very much, but what exactly gets in?"

"Nothing I can explain," Haf said. "I really can't. You have to feel it to understand. But it's not... right, you see? That's how we know. You look at a mind like that, and you can feel the bit that's wrong. It doesn't matter if you've never met that person before. You don't have to know what they were originally. A part is just wrong."

"So why did no one else notice with Owain?" Aerona said. "If it's that obvious -"

"It's obvious if you look," Haf said irritably, waving a hand and revealing the tattoo again. "And we aren't magicians. We aren't telepathic. It takes a proper ritual to get into someone's head like that, so unless he regularly walked through chalk circles containing meditating druids while accidently carrying a smoking bundle of exactly the right herbs and walking into the druid's hands with his face, he was unlikely to be found out."

"Okay," Aerona said slowly. "Unlikely circumstances, yes. But... don't the border warnings work on druids meditating for - ?"

"Different," Haf interrupted. "A fair question, but no. That's a team of about four druids in synchronised meditation doing the equivalent of staring in one direction with a set of binoculars and looking exclusively for a full flock of buzzards. Under those circumstances, they will never notice if a gnat flies behind them."

"Interesting analogy," Aerona grinned. Haf threw her a look.

"Short notice, alright?" she said. "Whatever. The point is; border patrols aren't even looking at Saxon minds. They're looking for the herd mind. It's what you get when humans throng together en masse. Everyone naturally feeds off each other - well, you know this, you're a Rider. One of you scents danger, the rest go on alert as well. When Saxons start planning raids or full attacks, they shift from herd mind to pack mind. That's what the druids pick up. And it's why there are false alarms sometimes, if they're just attacking each other."

"But the druids can't see individual minds like that," Aerona said, and Haf shook her head.

"Not unless there are lots of them," she said. Aerona nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Related question, then - how could the border warnings be being delayed? If they're working as a team -"

"Then all of them would have to be involved," Haf nodded. "Or three out of four, possibly; three druids might be able to alter a fourth's perception, but it would be risky."

"That makes it easier." Aerona brightened up. "That means that if we know one druid isn't entirely present anymore, then everyone else on their team is a likely suspect. Okay - do you have any idea yet what's wrong with the children?"

"A few ideas," Haf said. "I'll know once we're there. My big theory, though, is dream walking. Someone did it on that first night after the boy was killed, and then burned it deep. That'll mean every new dream they have will turn into that one. I'm hoping, anyway."

"Really?" Aerona asked, nervously. "Is that the best case scenario?"

"Yes," Haf said, and paused, thinking. "I think I'm going to have to use some analogies again. Think of that one as being like... a footprint, on a path. Into thick mud. It's there, and it blots everything out. As time goes by, the ground around the footprint tries to recover, see? The mud dries, grass tries to grow back, you know. But it can't erase the footprint. That's still there, no matter how high the grass grows."

"But you can rub out the footprint?" Aerona said. "Sort of?"

"Sort of," Haf agreed. "The next possibility is more like a seed, though. You plant it, and the ground can't help but grow it. Time doesn't hide it like with the footprint. With the footprint the mind is healing around it, as best it can, trying to grow past it. But with the seed; well. The seed becomes a plant, yes? It grows through the mind. It takes over. The grass might try to grow back, but it can't compete with the plant."

"Can you -" Aerona paused, testing the analogy. It was much like a game itself. "Um... pick the plant?"

"Far, far more difficult," Haf said darkly. "Because, you see, it's a dandelion. Leave even the tiniest fraction of root and it'll grow back. They'd need regular visits to a druid for the rest of their lives. And there's no guarentee you could stay ahead of it."

"Good gods." Aerona sat up fully on Briallu's back. "Do you know, I was already quite cross about this situation. But now I'm angry. If they have -"

"They might not," Haf said serenely.

"I think I might kill them," Aerona said. "Maybe just one? The Union probably wouldn't mind me killing just one. Can you know who specifically did it?"

"Maybe," Haf shrugged. "I won't know until I'm there. My other theory, by the way, is that whoever's responsible is nowhere near elegant enough for either of the methods I've described and is simply somewhere nearby, and making them dream it every night. And there are other possibilities."

"Well, I'm certainly going to punch Twm ap Llywelyn in the face, at any rate," Aerona said, and then a thought occured to her. "What exactly is the procedure for dealing with them, by the way? What does the Urdd want?"

"Oh, them dead with speed," Haf said cheerfully. "Druids don't like the people who don't come back down."

Well that made things considerably easier. Aerona brightened up, and spent the rest of the flight trying to convince Haf to play the shop game.

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

Cas-Gwent was rustic, but in its own way beautiful. Aerona wasn't used to mainland urban areas, so what might have been seen by someone else as a collection of shacks held together by mud on ground so poor even grass spurned it was a romantically retro testament to human spirit in Aerona's eyes. Although Cas-Gwent was nowhere near that bad. The buildings were solid wattle-and-daub affairs, the thatched roofs well-maintained, and sat neatly about a main road that sloped down to a river and the bustling fish market, sited conveniently next to the large quays. They tended to pick up the land traders in Cas-Gwent, the first Cymric stop in the Southlands over the border, and as such were both extremely welcoming to outsiders and in constant terror of Saxon raiding. But they weren't often attacked; the river was a tributary of the Hafren, the distinctively dangerous and ugly mud banks on each side providing enormous safety from a horde of angry gentlemen with swords intent on wading to mischief. But it did have a bridge, wide enough and sturdy enough for two carts to pass side by side, and with the promise of a trading caravan raids did happen sometimes.

They landed in the little town square beside the obligatory obelisk, Briallu sneakily trying to move herself closer to a hay-cart parked to one side. A small knot of shopkeepers turned to stare at them from one side, and as Aerona started to undo the clips of the harness she could hear a young voice running from house to house behind her, the words 'Rider! There's a Rider!' looping into a mantra. She grinned. Children were so cute.

One of the shopkeepers detached himself from the knot and approached Aerona and Haf, his eyes wide with the slightly awed look that border people all got when talking to Riders. It made Aerona uncomfortable.

"Rider," he said, clasping his hands in front of an apron that proclaimed him to be a blacksmith. "Welcome to Cas-Gwent, it's an honour to have you..."

"Oh, it's more of an honour to be here," Aerona said earnestly, and ignored Haf's shaking head out of the corner of her eye. "I've never been before, it's beautiful. Is there a stable we can borrow? Or even just a hitching post, there's no great need."

"Of course!" the man said eagerly. He seemed vaguely shocked that she might not expect him to evict his own horses in favour of the merod. "I've got a barn going empty at the minute, in fact, if you want we could turn them loose in there."

"That'd be lovely!" Aerona said happily, and the man beamed. "Excellent. My name is Aerona, and this is Derwydd Haf."

"Brychan," the man said, almost reverentially. By now a small crowd of people had gathered at the edges of the square, and Aerona found herself covertly scanning it for young children. There were a few, she noted; almost all were about ten or over however, only two looking young enough to be Dewi's contemporaries. A little girl, about as old as Aerona's children, was holding her mother's hand and watching Briallu, her face solemn and unsmiling. And further around the circle a woman was crouching on one knee, one arm around a boy's shoulders and the other pointing at the merod, while he simply stared at the ground, uninterested. Aerona forced herself to look back at Brychan, and undo the final straps of the harness.

"A pleasure to meet you," she smiled, dismounting neatly. Briallu shook herself from nose to tail, and a few of the older children laughed and clapped. "I suppose we should speak with your Mayor."

"He's on his way, Rider," one of the other shopkeepers said, coming closer. Her apron suggested she was a baker. Or had recently been attacked by a miller. "We can take your merod if you like?"

"Splendid!" Aerona said, handing the reins over to Brychan, who ran an automatic hand down Briallu's neck in a gesture that spoke volumes about how comfortable he was with animals. It was brilliantly reassuring. Briallu wasn't a difficult meraden, certainly not compared to some, but merod weren't animals for the inexperienced. Aerona left him to it, and went to help get the harness off Haf.

She'd just finished and was helping Haf dismount when the Mayor arrived. He was a plump man, his dark hair balding and leaving a shiny dome behind, his round face red. He was well-dressed, but clearly had only just struggled his way into his torque on the way down; it was slightly lop-sided, and partly caught on the collar of his tunic. Aerona held the meraden still for Haf to jump down and then turned to him, smiling her brightest smile.

"Lord Mayor!" she said happily, bowing. He beamed at her, clasping his hands in front of his round stomach.

"Rider!" he all but boomed. "Derwydd! Welcome to Cas-Gwent! To what do we owe the honour?"

"Actually, we've come about your children," Aerona said carefully, and the atmosphere changed subtly from one of excited puzzlement to one of grave understanding. "I'm told that they're still having this nightmare?"

"Every night, Rider," the woman kneeling said, looking up. She looked drawn, and exhausted. The boy beside her stared at the ground still, immobile. "We thought it would have stopped by now, or... slackened off a bit, maybe not every night, you know? But it's as bad as ever."

"And not just every night," a man in his fifties said, moving forward. "Gwion sees it every time he sleeps. Every time. Four or five times a night it can be, and if he manages to sleep in the day. Bethan even sees it when she closes her eyes. Anything longer than blinking and it's there."

"Do you think you can help them?" the Mayor asked, looking mostly at Haf. "Is that why you've come?"

"Possibly," Haf said cautiously. "I'd like to see them all, if I may. Could I set up somewhere?"

"Certainly," the Mayor nodded, anxiously. "We'll round up the children. Do you need anywhere specific?"

"Hmm." Haf tipped her head to one side, apparently considering. She kept staring at the Mayor, though, who looked abruptly uncomfortable in an earnest sort of way. Aerona felt sorry for him. "Trees or rock. Any hazel around here? By a hazel tree would be good."

"Two streets that way," a teenaged girl said, pointing to a road off the main square. "We've got a full copse on the edge of the woods. I'm a carpenter," she added.

Haf nodded, and Aerona beamed.

"Lovely!" she said. "We'll set up there."

And that seemed to be that. The merod were led away to Brychan the blacksmith's barn, most of the crowd scattered to find children and the rest vanished to find food and drink for them. The Mayor stayed, and walked with them to the copse.

He sighed as the onlookers vanished, and gave Aerona a sad look.

"We're starting to get seriously worried by now," he told her, twisting his fingers nervously. "We just didn't think it would stay this bad for this long. Most have stopped talking. And it just doesn't feel right."

"How so?" Aerona asked. The Mayor looked miserable.

"Well, I don't know," he said wretchedly. "A bear attack. That's what it was, that's what they see. It's haunted them so badly they see it again and again. So tell me why it is that when the Dál Riadan caravan came through last week with a load of bear skins, still with the heads on, not one of those children so much as twitched? Makes no sense to me, Rider, Derwydd. No sense at all."

Haf's jaw tightened. Clearly, it made sense to her.

"Have you had any other druids here to see them?" Aerona asked carefully. The Mayor nodded.

"One. Not long after it happened," he said. "The same day, in fact. Itinerent druid, it was, from Casnewydd. He said it was shock, it was to be expected. Said it would wear off. Then after the Union Rider came to take the official report we had the same druid come back to see them again. Iolo Mynwy, his name was."

Which was one of the names in Aerona's pocket. She forced herself to nod gently.

"But no change?" she said. The Mayor shook his head.

"We've lost a generation," he said quietly, checking briefly over his shoulder to see that they were out of earshot. "A whole generation, Rider. That's what it feels like. Not that I tell anyone else that." He smiled nervously. "But it's just so hard to take. Saxons? If they'd been caught by Saxons it would be horrendous, but we'd have someone to blame. Disease? Tragic, but understandable. But this? A bear attack. A simple bear attack, and they're just... fading. Not dead, but you try and tell me that's living. All over a bear attack."

"We'll see what we can do," Aerona said gently. Inside she was almost screaming with rage, but she pushed it aside. "It might help to have a new druid, a fresh perspective. And we want to just - be as sure as we can that it definitely was nothing more than a bear attack."

"Oh?" The Mayor gave her an odd look, and quite suddenly Aerona could feel herself shifting into Alert Mode. "You think it could be more?"

You do, Aerona thought. Interesting.

"It's possible they're conflating memories," Haf said. She paused as they approached the copse of hazel and pulled off her shoes, wriggling her toes into the earth. "If so we can try seperating them."

"Do you think there's any chance it's more than a bear attack, Lord Mayor?" Aerona asked, carefully schooling her tone to light sincerity. He threw her that slightly odd look again as they pulled to a halt beside the trees, Haf leaning against one with her eyes closed.

"The physical evidence says that's what it was," he said, and then sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over his scalp. "No. I'm sorry. I don't know what to think. They didn't even blink at those bearskins, but even if they had - how can it be the same dream? How can they all have an identical dream? The druid said it was normal. And I've never doubted a druid before, Derwydd, but I've also never heard of this, and it's only been him to look at them."

"It's okay," Aerona said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "It is possible he's missed something, after all. Human error happens to the best of us. Haf's very good, we'll see what we can see. You said Derwydd Iolo was here the same day as the attack?"

"Turned up an hour later, maybe two," the Mayor nodded. "And the day after the Rider made the report, but he said the Union had sent him that time."

"Okay." In front of them, Haf stepped inside the loose circle of hazel trees and crouched down, sinking her fingers into the earth for a moment before turning back to them and smiling.

"This is good," she said, approving. "I'll set up. As many hazelnuts or catkins as you can find, Rider, and if you've an ox skin anywhere in town, Mayor, it would be extremely useful. Especially if it's red."

"I'll fetch one directly," the Mayor beamed, suddenly cheered by the task apparently, and scuttled off. Aerona bent to the grassy floor, covered in the first fall of nuts from the trees they stood under, and started to gather them into a pile.

"So he came to them twice," Aerona said as Haf grabbed a stick and started to draw a line around the trees. "Does that help?"

"Means it's less likely to be someone nearby doing it every night," Haf said. She was dropping a thin orange power into the groove the stick was leaving; it looked a lot like rust. "Could still be a lot of things, though. Do you think you could fetch him? Iolo Mynwy? I'd rather like to have him here."

"Possibly," Aerona nodded thoughtfully. "He's currently serving in the Temple to Arawn in Casnewydd. If he's there I could get him, certainly. Would it help?"

"It might," Haf sniffed. "It'll help more, though, if you're clearly apprehending him after I find that these children's minds have been thoroughly fucked. The people here will be less angry if they see justice."

"Very political," Aerona said, gloomily. But, in all fairness, she desperately wanted to hurt Iolo Mynwy, particularly after the Mayor's description of the effects on the children. And it would be a trip to Casnewydd, maybe Awen would be up for thumping some druids. She was certainly a girl who needed to let off some steam right now. "Alright. I'll get you started first, though, I want to know what you think after the first child."

It only took about quarter of an hour for Haf to be ready, the circle carefully filled with runes and swirling symbols and seven piles of different herbs that burned quietly, the vapours seeming almost to be staying inside the circle. A throng of people had gathered around it, anxious families holding vacant six-year-olds who walked silently, unsmiling and uninterested in their surroundings. Haf was whispering something to herself, sitting completely still on her heels, her hands resting lightly on her knees. Finally, she looked up, and Aerona was gratified to see that she had her Compassionate Healer Face on.

"Okay," she said gently, but her voice had mellowed, slightly richer than it had been. "Could I have the first?"

"Rhian," a man said, stumbling forward with a red-haired girl in his arms who stared blankly in front of herself. "Please? This is Rhian. She doesn't speak anymore..."

Haf raised her arms serenely, her own eyes slightly distant, and the man set Rhian down just inside the circle. Rhian paused for a moment and then stepped forward to Haf, her movements jerky as though she was on autopilot, and moved into Haf's arms. Gently, Haf guided her down until the child was sitting on her lap, leaning bonelessly against her chest.

"Good girl," Haf murmured, her fingers gently working themselves into Rhian's hair, her thumbs in the centre of her forehead. "That's it..."

And then Haf's eyes went completely blank, staring unseeing across the circle as she whispered something, a chant of some kind.

An unnatural silence seemed to roll in from the wood behind the circle. The birds fell silent, the wind dropping off suddenly as though someone had closed a giant window. Even the gentle, distant sound of the river seemed to abruptly mute itself. It was eerie.

It scraped across Aerona's nerves, too. She dropped into an uneasy crouch, fingers brushing the floor, trying her best to ignore her suddenly hyperactive instincts as she watched Haf and Rhian, both of them immobile in the circle. The townsfolk seemed unperturbed; some of them watched her, clearly slightly unnerved at the sight of an edgy Rider reacting to something. Aerona couldn't blame them. She couldn't explain it, either.

Finally, after what felt to Aerona's overwrought mind like an hour but was actually probably about a minute, Haf blinked, coming back to herself, and hugged Rhian close.

"Well?" the man asked, his voice tight. "Rhian? Is she -?"

"Aerona?" Haf asked. Her voice was still caught up in the rite, still richer and edgier than it should have been. "What did you draw?"

"Draw?" Aerona asked blankly, and looked down at the ground where her hand was resting. A rune was clearly marked in the soft earth beneath her fingers, dirt impacted under her fingernails. "Oh. What did you do?"

"Used a conduit," Haf said, smiling faintly. The townspeople drew surreptitiously closer, all trying to see the mark without crowding Aerona. "You're a Rider. Linked to the people and made of instincts. You people make the perfect diagnostic tools; you pick up on the danger. What did you draw?"

"An Ogham rune," Aerona said uneasily. "Muin, it looks like."

"Definitely," a woman said, leaning over Aerona's shoulder. "I worked a trade route with Erinn, once. That's muin."

"Oh," Haf said quietly. "I'll need to go deeper. She may not like it."

"Just help her," the man whispered, dropping to his knees hopelessly. "If it helps - "

"No. Rhian won't feel it," Haf said, and turned to look at Aerona. The slate-blue eyes seemed to pass right through her, and Aerona realised with a sinking heart what she meant.

"Oh," she sighed. "Everyone back away from me, please? Three or four metres."

"Thank you," the man said, turning and looking Aerona in the eye. "I don't know what it does to you, but - thank you."

"No need," Aerona said, bemused. "It's what I'm - "

She jerked to attention as the silence rolled in again, and this time the light seemed to dim as well, as though a cloud had rolled across the sun, and every single nerve ending in Aerona's body sprang to attention. The skin on her back felt like it was crawling, as though she was being watched from somewhere she couldn't see, making her instincts scream danger. The shadows around the trees changed, warping out of shape; something about the silence into the forest was wrong, very wrong, and Aerona stared in, the corners of her eyes seeing movement that ceased when she looked properly. And then it was everywhere, a surreptitious movement that she couldn't define, happening all around her and she couldn't stop it. She kept the crouch but backed up a step, one hand on the floor for support, the other moving to the hilt of the dagger in her belt as her heart-rate accelerated. The shadows were moving, Aerona realised with a thrill of horror. They were moving in from the forest, shifting closer when she turned her head, creeping unstoppably forward toward the people gathered around, and she couldn't stop them -

And then sound came back, the sunlight warm again on her face, and Aerona blinked. She had one arm out and ready, dagger drawn. The fingers of her other hand were still in the earth, cool and damp and soothing. Haf was looking through her again.

"I thought you'd rather you took it than her," she said distantly, and Aerona inhaled deeply, trying to shake the last vestiges of useless adrenaline while she sheathed the blade.

"I would," she said, pulling her hand back out of the soil and examining the results. "Um... muin again. And úath, and ngéadal, and... I think that's úr. And a Union symbol I can't translate in front of everyone. Oh, and that looks like luis."

Very gently, Haf detached herself from the unresponsive Rhian and stood, stepping towards the edge of the circle without leaving it. She looked down at the symbols for a long moment, and then nodded, turning abruptly back to the child.

"Bring him, Rider," she said, her voice suddenly like ice. "I was wrong. We'll need him."

Aerona stood swiftly, suddenly the centre of attention as the crowd looked sharply at her.

"Alive?" she asked, disappointed. Haf nodded, crouching back down to Rhian again.

"And conscious," she said. "But that's all."

"Bring who?" the Mayor asked, stepping forward. "Who do you need? What's wrong with them?"

"Iolo Mynwy," Aerona said grimly, to a horrified muttering from the crowd. She was back to being Very Cross Indeed. "Where was my meraden taken?"

"This way, Rider," Brychan the blacksmith said, stepping forward through the people. "It's not far."

"But why Iolo?" a woman was asking as Aerona stepped away, rising her voice over the gathering crowd disquiet. "He helped them, didn't he? Why him?"

"It's only ever been him," another man said grimly, and then Aerona was led around a corner, and they could no longer hear individual voices. The blacksmith glanced back at her, his eyes strained.

"Why do you need the druid, Rider?" he asked. "You want to kill him. Did he do it to them? Is that what's wrong?"

"We don't know," Aerona said, which was technically true. "But it's a working theory. Can you do two things for me?"

"Name them," the blacksmith said fervently, leading her around another corner and bringing her to the door of a barn. He pulled open the door and they slipped inside; Haf's gelding was placidly eating hay down one end, while Briallu swooped about in the rafters.

"Before I get back, make sure everyone knows that they absolutely cannot mob him," Aerona said. She whistled, and Briallu obediently flew down, landing at a trot and halting in front of her. "We need him conscious or we can't help those children. They'll have to restrain themselves."

"I'll tell them," Brychan nodded. He helped her unhook Briallu's harness and bridle with admirable speed from where he'd carefully folded them up to stop her getting tangled in the roof. "What else?"

"They're going to be angry with the druids," Aerona said, springing onto Briallu's back and clipping on the harness. The blacksmith did the other side. "It's human nature. A druid did it, so they'll want to distrust all druids. Make sure they realise that another druid is helping them, and the Urdd is going to lynch the man who did it. They need to recognise that he's the exception, not the rule."

"I will, Rider." They finished with the harness and he opened the door for her. Briallu was picking up on Aerona's urgency and nearly bolted out, turning fretfully on the spot once outside, her wings outstretched. Aerona looked back at Brychan.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll be back as soon as I can," and then Briallu kicked off the ground and soared away, south to Casnewydd.

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

It was just before noon still when Aerona arrived in Casnewydd, and as some rather strange luck would have it she very nearly collided with Madog and Dylan on the runway as the Alpha Wing of Wrecsam prepared to leave. Even stranger was that Awen was leaning casually against a stable inside the tower behind the throng of merod, apparently seeing them off. Despite the urgency, Aerona giggled. There was some divine intervention going on, these days.

"Guys!" she said merrily, Saluting as Briallu halted, whinnying to the others. Madog's mare whickered back as he returned the Salute, staring at her.

"No way," he said, shaking his head. "You're doing this deliberately, aren't you? You're just following us."

"Aerona!" Dylan said brightly. "Are you my friend?"

"Such an embarrassment," Madog muttered, shaking his head and looking away. Aerona giggled as Dylan leaned across and punched him in the arm.

"Hey, at least I'm greeting her, you complete plebian," he said. "You're just accusatory."

"Whereas you're demanding," Madog said, although perhaps fortunately Awen managed to push her way through the merod at that moment to stand between them all on the runway. Although it was ill-advised, Aerona felt. That was extremely poor Health and Safety. It was a good job the children weren't here to see the poor example - and then she remembered the children of Cas-Gwent, and sobered instantly.

"Welcome to Casnewydd," Awen said mildly. "Sorry, it's not normally full of Northlanders."

The response from the Wrecsam Wing was swift, but good-natured.

"Hey!"

"Yeah, we're raising the tone."

"That accent and you think we're the problem?"

"Dylan."

"Sorry."

"We have a problem," Aerona said, and everyone immediately switched to We Are Serious Riders mode. Awen nodded, stepping forward and taking Briallu's bridle. It was a good idea; Briallu was jittering, enough to step straight off the runway if she wasn't careful.

"I rather thought we might," Awen said, glancing back at Madog, who stepped forward a few paces. "How serious? Do we need - ?"

"There are some insane druids in the country and one of them has crippled a lot of children in Cas-Gwent," Aerona said, and more than a few of the merod twitched, displaying their Riders' reactions. "And he's here, in Casnewydd. Or works here. We need to get him there, because I've got a druid there who thinks she can heal them, but only if we have him alive and conscious."

"Where does he work here?" Awen asked intently, and behind her Madog shook his head.

"Mental," he said. "Everything has gone mental. We're not leaving yet, guys, unpack. And back off the runway, I have horrible visions of us stampeding Leader Awen clean off the edge and it all being Dylan's fault."

"Yeah, it would be, too," one of his Riders said, and they backed up one by one.

"His name is Iolo Mynwy," Aerona said tensely, looking back down; but Awen instantly turned and headed back into the Landing Tower.

"Temple to Arawn," she said, dodging the merod nimbly. "I'll be right with you. Adara! Saddle up!"

"Oh, look at that," Madog said, his voice its standard deadpan. "She knows the names and locations of everyone in the City. I think I might just deify her as the patron of Alpha Wingleaders."

Despite herself, Aerona giggled.

"I got to read an RDR about her the other day," she said, watching as a stable hand hurriedly came out and removed the saddle bags from Madog's harness. He snorted, and threw her a look.

"Don't tell me," he said. "It was from when she was five and it said that she's so perfect she'll engender feelings of towering inadequacy in her peers once she definitely certainly makes Alpha Wingleader."

"Don't be like that, champ," Dylan said, riding back out. "You're only feeling inadequate because you had a Phoenician, but it's perfectly natural."

"You had a Phoenician?" Aerona perked up, interested. "Really? Canaanite or Nubian?"

"Nubian," Madog said, giving her a wry smile.

"Really?" Aerona wrestled with her sense of decorum, and lost. "And was he - ?"

"Very," Madog smirked. Dylan grinned.

"I was so close to seeing, as well," he said evilly. "But I thought I'd let Madog keep him."

"He was a bit weird, mind," Madog said pensively. "He had a Rider fetish."

"Do those exist?" Aerona asked apprehensively. "Why - ?"

"Right." Awen rode out on her monster of a meraden, her eyes hard. Wrecsam Riders moved aside to let her pass. "Did he definitely do it, or do we have to be gentle?"

"The evidence is overwhelming," Aerona assured her. "But we need him conscious for the sake of the darling children. They're distressing, by the way. They're all... blank."

"I won't bother with a carriage, then," Awen said, and Madog chuckled.

"Spirit when angered," he muttered to himself, and Awen gave him a very slightly abashed look. "Alright. Do we need anyone else? I've got a whole Wing here that can actually do work sometimes."

"You're a dick, Madog!" someone shouted from the back. Madog ignored them.

"Yes, actually," Aerona grinned, stifling the giggle as she pulled out the list. "Arrest these druids. We need them all, though, so you'll have to be discrete."

"We're screwed then," Dylan said.

"You're a dick, Dylan!" someone shouted. Dylan sniffed.

"I totally know that's you, Menna," he said. Awen took the list and scanned it before handing it to one of the Northlander Riders.

"The locations are on there," she said, and then leaned to the side to see into the Landing Tower, raising her voice. "Adara! Go with them."

"Coming!" Adara's voice called back, and Aerona grinned.

"Hi Adara!" she called brightly, Briallu snorting.

"Aerona," the voice called. "You came back! That's good."

There was a brief pause in which Madog and Awen glanced at each other, a look that exchanged a lot of empathetic despair at underlings, before Awen pushed Brân forward.

"Right," she said, "let's go," and leapt off the Landing Tower, her meraden's enormous wingspan unfurling before he dropped gracefully out of sight. Briallu followed enthusiastically, especially when Madog and Dylan followed on her heels, stretching out and trying to race them. Sometimes, Aerona thought, her meraden played games more than she did.

Awen led them at speed over Casnewydd's streets before plunging down towards a temple, its ambulatory containing one or two worshippers. They landed before the front door, a green-robed druid hurrying out to meet them, and then pausing slightly as Awen's meraden pranced, only folding his massive wings reluctantly. The druid paused until the immediate threat of decapitation seemed to be gone, and then stepped forward.

"Riders," she said, her tone surprised. "Welcome to the Temple to Arawn. Would you-?"

"Stay right there," Awen commanded her, and she froze. Aerona wasn't surprised. She was slightly scared of Awen now too, and moreso when Awen turned to face her. "Do you want to fetch him? It'll be easier than if I get down and back up again."

"Hey, I want to go," Dylan said. "Madog, tell them. Can I go?"

"Let's go together!" Aerona suggested brightly. She'd already undone the clips of the harness anyway, and was jumping lightly to the ground. "Race you!"

"Oh, it is on!" Dylan grinned, and was down so quickly Aerona wondered if he'd cut the straps. As they ran in past the green-robed druid Aerona had one last look at Awen and Madog, and saw the second long-suffering look they exchanged. Which seemed a tad unfair. Aerona wasn't even in Awen's Wing.

Inside the temple was dark, the only lights coming from the clusters of lit candles in their wall sconces every few metres or so, and the air was filled with the scents of burning herbs and beeswax. They were standing in a twenty-foot-square room, the shrine to Arawn in the centre marked with water and oil, while a narrow passage at the back led into a room presumably used for rituals and such. No one else was around. Automatically, Aerona and Dylan moved to seperate sides of the shrine to pass it, Aerona carefully slipping a dagger as noiselessly out of its sheath as she could. They didn't speak. They were hunting now.

A soft chanting was emanating from the passageway as they approached. It looked to be about two metres long and maybe three feet wide; not really enough to fit both of them at the same time. Dylan raised a hand and silently signalled her behind him, and Aerona obeyed. It made sense that way. Dylan was an active Rider, with far more practice than Aerona, and a Deputy at that. And it showed - the slightly scatty air he usually wore had given way to a man who moved like a panther, his normally roaming eyes fixed and hard. He stepped confidently into the passageway and Aerona followed, moving slightly sideways as she automatically fell into the function of watching their backs.

The room at the end, insofar as Aerona could make it out over Dylan's shoulder, was even darker, the embers of a small fire in the middle of the floor visible but, bizarrely, giving off no light to illuminate the room. The whispered chanting didn't stop, but Aerona couldn't see where the man was in the darkness. Dylan paused slightly, the muscles across his back tensing, and he very carefully dropped a hand behind him, signalling her to wait. Aerona dropped silently into a crouch. Something, she felt, wasn't quite right here. Something was very slightly wrong. Something -

"I knew," a voice hissed, and in the time it took to blink the silhouette of a robed man appeared at the end of the passageway, his hand raised to his mouth, palm up, and he blew something at Dylan's face. Dylan snarled and lashed out, catching the man across the jaw and knocking him back, but then he stepped back and flattened himself against the wall, one hand rising to his eyes, and Aerona realised with a stab of adrenaline that he was blinded.

"I felt you pushing at them," the druid said, out of sight again. Aerona shifted slightly closer, her mouth dry. "I felt a Rider. Was that you? Were you shielding them?"

Dylan moved forward, into the room, his stance ready to spring. Aerona moved cautiously to the mouth of the passageway. There was no sign of the druid, enveloped in darkness, and as he spoke his voice seemed to bounce around. How was he doing that? As Haf had said only this morning, they weren't magicians. It had to be a rite of some sort; they'd heard him chanting after all, and it was a temple.

"And what's your plan now?" Dylan snarled, his voice low. "What do you think happens next? Although you should know; if you've permanently blinded me I will feed you your rectum."

"I've not," Iolo's voice echoed back, mocking. Dylan cocked his head, trying to get a fix on it. Aerona scanned the floor. "But it won't help. I'll take your mind, Rider, seal it away with theirs; and the horrors you've seen and done are far worse."

A circle? Aerona squinted in the dark. Was that a circle on the floor, at the edge of the room? It could have been. Cautiously, she edged her fingers forward into the room, a few inches. A deeply scored groove met her fingertips, filled with something that felt like ash and grit and rust and seeds. She brushed at it, trying to make a gap.

"Why do it?" Dylan asked. He backed up to the wall, one hand flat against it, the other moving to his belt. "What the crap is wrong with you, anyway? Nice druiding."

"Because I am free," the voice hissed. In spite of the echoes it seemed to be coming closer; Aerona scrabbled at the dust. "Because I can see the truth of all. The truth they are afraid of, and seek to hide. Because -"

The ash parted and light from the small fire finally bounced into the room, revealing the figure in blue robes standing an inch away from Dylan, his hands raised around Dylan's head. He stepped back, shocked as the light reappeared, and looked around -

"I'm very cross," Aerona said, standing in the doorway, seething. "It was me with those children. I was quite ready to dismember you, but I'm told we need you alive, so I'm not going to yet. But now, look, now you've blinded my friend here and were about to torture him."

"You don't understand," the druid said, backing away. His hand was reaching for something behind him; Aerona advanced, and pretended she couldn't see. "The Urdd, all of them, it's like a conspiracy! They hide it from us, but we - "

"You torture kids, dude," Dylan muttered. "They don't. Your argument is error."

"We have the truth!" Iolo screamed, and Aerona reacted as his hand whirled up, twisting and ducking under the powder that sailed harmlessly past her. He lunged forward, aiming for the passageway, but Aerona flung out an arm, gripping his elbow and yanking it back as she jammed a boot into the backs of his knees. He went down, catching himself on one hand and went to get up -

- and Aerona calmly swiped her dagger across the backs of his thighs. Iolo screamed and dropped to the floor, instantly crippled, and Aerona nodded to herself. She generally avoided maiming people; it sat about as well with her as torture did, really, since it came to the same thing, so she liked to either kill people or not hurt them. But sometimes the classics were the best. And really, a hamstringing was the least of Iolo Mynwy's problems.

"He's down," Aerona said calmly, carefully cutting his robe off him to diminish the chance of him blinding people any more. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, good." Dylan was blinking and staring at the fire, the fingers of one hand hovering near his eyes. "It's wearing off, so it can just be an amusing jape that we'll all laugh about afterwards."

He looked down at Iolo for a second, clutching at the robe as Aerona tore it off him, and then very carefully stepped onto his hand. Aerona winced at the crunch and looked away. Apparently, she'd reached her limit.

"Lucky for you, isn't it, boy?" Dylan said evenly over Iolo's scream. "You think I'm a bastard? You would not have liked my Wingleader if that had been permanent. Need a hand?"

"Cheers," Aerona said, passing him half the robe and pulling Iolo's wrists back to bind them with the rest. "Will he be angry anyway? Madog, that is."

"Furious," Dylan said, his grin evil. "You know Wingleaders. But I'll be able to see to hold him back. Let's gag him."

"I'm going to assume you don't mean Madog," Aerona giggled, merrily forcing more of the cloth into Iolo's mouth. "Okay, I'm done."

Dylan paused for a moment to wipe his eyes again and then yanked Iolo up by his hair, hauling him onto his shoulder. Aerona resheathed her dagger and stood, stretching, to allow Dylan to go first. They made their way back out.

Outside Adara had joined them, having a rapid conversation with Awen. Aerona had to blink a few times as her eyes readjusted in the sun; she wondered how much worse it was for Dylan.

"One naked, bound druid!" Dylan announced. "So it's a good job he's not going with you, Madog."

"I wish I had a better Deputy," Madog sighed mock-morosely as Dylan threw Iolo over Brân's back behind Awen. Aerona helped him tie him on. "I really do."

"Ours was both worse and oily," Adara said disdainfully, and Awen grinned.

"Yeah, gift horse," she said. Dylan finished his side and walked back out into view of the others. "He hasn't stabbed you. Trust me, he could be worse."

"Yes, but only by actually stabbing me," Madog grumbled. "And I think he only hasn't because fucking hell what happened?"

"Good gods," Adara muttered.

"Yeah, one sec," Dylan said, darting back inside. Aerona finished and took Briallu's reins back from Awen and mounted quickly. Madog spun around to face her.

"What happened to his eyes?" he asked, the rage and horror evident. Aerona sighed.

"Er... Iolo had some kind of weird powder he blew into Dylan's face," she said cautiously. "Which blinded him temporarily we need him alive and conscious!"

Fortunately, Awen was quick off the mark at moving Brân out of Madog's reach. In the sudden scramble of merod Adara managed to push herself between them, her red kite screaming from the temple roof, while Madog roughly worked to keep Calon on the ground.

"Afterwards," Awen said urgently, her voice low and intense. She locked eyes with Madog as he fought Calon with one hand, the other gripping a sword from his back so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and Aerona got to witness their third Wingleader look; but this one was different. This one was a plea, and a promise, made in perfect understanding. "You can have him once it's finished."

Madog's gaze dropped to Iolo, his jaw working, and then he nodded.

"Agreed," he said shortly, sheathing the sword and turning Calon back towards the temple. "Temporary, yes? Did it hurt him?"

"Not badly," Aerona said, exchanging a glance with Awen, who shook her head very slightly. Although at that point Dylan came back out again.

Aerona could see why Madog's reaction was so strong. Dylan's eyes had gone red, as though he'd been rubbing at them for a while, which by itself might have been a bit distressing, but more shocking was the skin around his eyes. His eyelids had almost entirely discoloured, the skin so dark it was nearly black, and small tendrils tracked outward as high as his eyebrows and as low as his cheekbones. It was reminiscent of the coal dust that seeped into miners' veins from a cut. His face was wet as he went to take the reins back, and Aerona guessed he'd been rinsing his eyes.

"'Sup, bitches," he said casually. Madog leaned forward and grabbed his chin, studying his face.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, his sudden calm scarier than his previous anger. Dylan snorted and pulled back, mounting up in one graceful leap.

"Yeah, it was agony," he grinned. "But I nobly coped, because I'm tough and cool. Shall we go?"

They sprang into the air again, Awen naturally taking point, and sped away from Casnewydd's urban sprawl over the stretching countryside beneath. They took it slightly more slowly than Aerona had on the way, probably because Awen was carrying a passenger and didn't want to push her meraden. Madog's simmering anger was showing no signs of abating as they went.

"Are we there yet?" Dylan asked after about thirty seconds. Adara threw him a glance.

"Oh, you're one of those," she said, mock disapprovingly. "Have we stopped yet? Because if the answer is 'no' you have both answers."

"Where are we going?" Dylan persisted. Aerona giggled as Awen sighed.

"Cas-Gwent," she said. "Lovely place, right on the border, big trading post. Not my favourite neck of the woods, mind."

"Is that because of your near-fatal injury there?" Aerona asked, and was treated to a stare.

"Gods, don't remind me," Adara shuddered.

"Why on earth do you know about that?" Awen asked blankly. "What's that -?"

"Ooh, what happened?" Dylan asked with ghoulish enthusiasm. "Was there blood? How much blood was there?"

"Loads," Adara said darkly, Aerona ignoring Awen's bewildered look. "There was a boy, and a Saxon, and she jumped in the way, and the axe cut her open from ribs to mid-thigh. Miracle she only caught the edge; any closer and it would have taken her ribs, too."

"But the bantam human was okay?" Dylan asked. Madog sighed.

"Children, Dylan, children," he muttered. Awen nodded.

"He was fine," she shrugged. "So they told me."

"Good for you!" Aerona said merrily. Awen threw her a look.

"Thanks," she said uncomfortably. Her fingers found her ribs on her left side, an apparently unconscious move. "So... why do you know that?"

Aerona sighed.

"Well, it's a bit..." she started, and then stopped. There was just no way she was going to be able to tell this story without Awen blaming herself, no matter how she looked at it. And Adara was likely to be angry. "There's an earlier bit," Aerona tried again. "Back when you guys were about sixteen. Did Owain still want to be a bard at that point?"

Adara snorted, the contempt almost visible.

"You have been reading up," Awen observed. "Yes, I think so. What happened?"

"Um..." Aerona paused, wondering how to phrase it. "Well," she said uneasily. "I think he wanted to - he wasn't any good, was he? At being a bard. Worse than you? Did he still want to be better than you at that point?"

"Never stopped wanting to be better than her," Adara said disdainfully. "Seriously. He'd have grown breasts if he could have."

"He wasn't good at it, no," Awen said, her tone guarded. "What happened?"

"I think he was trying to give himself an edge," Aerona said carefully. "But he went up a mountain back then. And stayed overnight."

It had been worth telling just for Adara's reaction, Aerona felt; her meraden actually dipped in his flightpath, having to resurface again for her to shout. The result was that Dylan got there first.

"No way!" Dylan said, his eyes widening. The black was starting to look rather fetching, Aerona felt, almost like war paint. "Complete retard! That's why he's a loser now? He's mental?"

"Sixteen?" Adara shouted, apparently horrified. "He was sixteen?"

"I think so," Aerona said, watching Awen. Her face had frozen, expression unreadable. "But he was certified sound at the time. By another druid who'd done the same thing; I think there's a sub-cult of them about the country."

"Ah," Dylan nodded. "That's why my boy Iolo there was talking about being able to see things. They're all mental."

"Yes, seem to be," Aerona agreed. "I think that's why you never knew about him, though, Awen. He had druidic help to hide. And you were so young when it happened-"

"Why Cas-Gwent?" Awen interrupted. "Why do you know about that? Why has this guy been targetting the children there?"

"Ooh, she's sharp, this one," Dylan said sagaciously. "Okay, new rule for the day trip; no angsty Wingleaders. Only one of you is allowed to be less than cheery at any one time. Stop glaring, Madog."

"Yeah, it's my turn," Awen said. "I'm not asking you again, Aerona."

"I know," Aerona said wretchedly. "It's just that you're going to blame yourself instead of Owain, when it's completely his fault. Well, his and Iolo's, there-"

"My boy Iolo," Dylan interrupted proudly. "I gave my eyes for that epithet."

"You're already blaming yourself too much right now," Adara said seriously, looking at Awen. "I don't think -"

"Aerona," Awen said, and her voice was bladed. Aerona tried not to shrink away.

"Okay," she said, trying not to squeak. "How about, you have to promise to see it from my perspective?"

"What?" Awen asked wryly. "Full of kittens?"

"As though it wasn't you in the story," Madog interjected. He sounded grave still, but seemed to be calming down. "Once you've heard it, imagine if it had happened between - I don't know, Dylan and me. And imagine if I was blaming myself for it, and if you'd agree."

"Brilliant!" Aerona said, and if she hadn't had her hands full of reins she'd have clapped. "That's exactly what I mean! Imagine kittens too, though, if you want. Okay - Owain was considering Riders to be better than everyone else, that's the first point." She ignored Adara choking. "Now, in Cas-Gwent a year ago, some Saxons raided. You jumped in front of an axe to spare an adorable six-year-old called Dewi, and nearly died. Owain took you to the Temple to Lleu in Casnewydd, sewed you back together, you're fine. But. It was a close call."

"It would be," Madog winced. "Axes are nasty. Well done."

"I still dream about it sometimes," Adara shuddered. "I genuinely mean that."

"Anyway, over the course of healing you with the druid there Owain had this extended diatribe about how Dewi wasn't worth it," Aerona sighed. "This is the nasty bit, I'm sorry. He went back to Cas-Gwent. With Dylan's boy Iolo there, and please remember, we need him alive and conscious. It was the job of the children to go blackberry picking in the woods. Owain waited until they went, and were alone. And then..." she paused again, adjusting her phrasing to be as neutral as possible. "Then he killed Dewi. Disguised it as a bear attack, and warned them all to keep quiet. Then Iolo - sorry, your boy Iolo - here changed their memories of it. Twisted them, so that they remember a bear that walked like a man. And he makes them dream it, every night."

There was a pregnant silence, and Aerona had to look away from Awen's eyes.

"But - we need him awake," Awen said at last. It hurt to hear her voice. Adara looked at her, clearly upset. Aerona nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Sorry."

"We'll share him," Madog said darkly. "How about... we take it in turns to cut bits off until we have half each?"

Awen nodded, her eyes smouldering. Even Dylan seemed to have gone silent, his gaze steady for once, bound by his damaged eyes. Aerona shuddered.

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

As it turned out, Aerona needn't have worried about her first instruction to Brychan the blacksmith; any desire to attack Iolo the second they landed melted away when they saw Awen. It was a combined effect, partly formed of Awen being their Alpha Wingleader and very much their authority in their eyes, and partly formed of how terrifying her face looked right now. She rode Brân's enormous frame through the muttering, roiling crowd and straight to the clearing where Aerona had left Haf, still kneeling in the circle but this time with no child present. The layout of the circle had been changed; now it contained a further three circles across its diameter in a line, Haf sitting in the central one, facing the second, her back to the third. She had her eyes closed as they approached, muttering something under her breath, but she flinched and looked up as Awen stopped before her, her slate-blue gaze very briefly fearful before settling back to impassive. Aerona wondered how much of an echo Awen was giving off right now. It couldn't be pleasant to experience.

"Awen, this is Derwydd Haf," Aerona said, dismounting quickly and handing her reins to the first person she saw before hastily untying Iolo from Awen's harness. Madog was helping on the other side, his jaw tight again. "Haf, this is -"

"Awen, Madog, Dylan, Adara," Haf said, nodding. "I can tell. Thank you, Riders."

"You're welcome," Dylan said. "He put stuff in my eyes and made me blind. Can you do that to him?"

"Sorry," Madog said, clearly automatically. "My Deputy is an ingrate. Where do you want Iolo?"

"My boy Iolo," Dylan corrected. He was unclipping Awen's harness for her, one hand on her knee, and Aerona realised she was doing the same thing on the other side, both of them trying vainly to soothe her. Adara was hovering, clearly wanting to stay close there. "Do you need the gag off? I broke his hand, he screams without it."

"He did," Aerona nodded. "It was really horrible."

"It can stay," Haf said. "Just drop him in the circle. I need to see his mind first."

Madog dumped Iolo unceremoniously over the line into the small circle in front of Haf and stood back. Awen leaped down off of Brân, and looked at the assembled townspeople.

"I need to see the parents of Dewi," she said quietly. The silence spread back, coupled with a general shuffling of feet and people looking behind them until the man from earlier stepped forward, Rhian still clutched in his arms.

"I'm his father, Rider," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "This is Rhian, his sister."

Awen stepped over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

"Come with me," she said quietly. "We need to talk."

They vanished among the crowd, Adara's pained eyes watching them go, and Madog sighed.

"She's not having a good week," he muttered to Adara's sorrowful look, and took hold of Dylan's chin again, examining his eyes. "It looks painful."

"Don't be a square," Dylan said. "I've had far worse. Although does it look cool? Tell me it looks cool."

"Actually, it does, I think," Aerona said. "You look creepy. I wonder if it's permanent?"

"Better not be," Madog muttered, and they looked back at the circle.

Iolo was lying on his back with his head on Haf's lap, still bound and naked, his legs covered with blood from the wounds on his thighs. Haf had carefully worked her fingers into his hair, thumbs on his forehead, the same stance she'd taken with Rhian earlier, and was staring blank-eyed across her circle again. Iolo looked vacant; but as they watched his eyelids flickered, and Haf blinked and flinched, breaking her trance.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, and looked up. Aerona found she'd moved herself right to the edge of the circle in her sudden concern.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "Are you okay? Did he do something?"

"Traditionally you're meant to let me answer before moving on to the next question," Haf said, her usual bite muffled by her slightly distant tone. Adara snorted.

"She doesn't, does she?" she said. "What a big eager."

"Well, you're okay, then," Aerona said, relieved. "So what is it?"

"The footprint," Haf said, apparently pulling out her box of analogies again. Aerona crouched down, the better to hear the quiet words. "But with something else. A doorway. Or a passageway. Once they're in the dream, they try to run and hide, and he gives them just one exit. Every time they dream it, he takes a little bit more of them. That's why they don't speak. The Mayor was right. They function; they don't live. He's taken too much of them for them to live."

Aerona barely noticed the uproar behind her, the angry townspeople surging forward to be held back by the other Riders. She leaned forward, staring at Haf's transparent gaze.

"Where does he put them?" she asked, desperately. "I mean... you can fetch them back, can't you? They aren't gone?"

"I told you before about the space in his head," Haf said. "Filled with something else."

"Yes?"

"That's how he does it," Haf said, her voice somehow carrying over he shouting. "That's where he keeps them. What gets in has no mind, as we'd understand it. That's why it's drawn to the one who loses theirs. But it also craves others. It's why I didn't think of it," she added. "Before. When I spoke to you. This isn't something a druid with a whole mind could even do, much less think of."

"Can you get them back?" Aerona asked, and the noise behind her dropped as everyone froze, straining for the answer.

"I can try," Haf said. "But it will be difficult. And I can't guarentee them all. And he'll fight me."

"Mentally?" Awen's voice asked behind Aerona. She knelt down at the circle's edge herself, watching Haf carefully. "Can he fight you if he's in pain?"

There was a pause as Haf, a druid inherently opposed to torture, considered that.

"Nowhere near as well," she said finally. "But he needs to stay alive and awake-"

"I can keep him awake," Awen assured her with a frankly chilling certainty. "And alive. For as long as you need. I only need his foot."

"Good gods you are creepier than Dylan's eyes, Awen," Aerona muttered. "What do you need, Haf?"

"Just the children now, one by one," she said, carefully lowering Iolo's head to the floor and looking behind her. "In that circle. Leader? You'll need to distract him for me while I put them under."

"With pleasure," Awen said, a distinctly cruel smile playing across her mouth. Aerona looked at Dewi's father instead; he was rushing forward again, Rhian in his arms.

"Rhian first, please!" he begged, pushing past a baker. "She's all that's left! Please!"

"Give her to Aerona," Haf said. She was running a finger through one of the burned-out piles of herbs on the floor, covering it in ash. "Only Riders crossing the circle, now."

"Hey, cool," Dylan said. "I've never been in a secret club before."

"Do shut up, Dylan," Madog muttered wearily. Aerona stood and gently took Rhian's unresisting form out of her father's arms. She walked around the circle and stepped inside, sitting the child in the third circle. Haf drew a line of the ash down Rhian's forehead, stopping at the bridge of her nose, and looked up at Aerona.

"If you wish you can stay there with her," she said quietly. "You won't be able to shield her, but you'll provide her with a foundation. Something to cling to as being genuinely safe."

"Really?" Aerona brightened up considerably. "I'd love to!"

"I think Aerona is part kitten."

"Dylan."

"Sorry."

Aerona sat, cross-legged, holding Rhian close. Haf stroked the ash down her forehead too, and then guided her hands onto Rhian's head. Across the circle, Awen had pulled something long and thin out of a pouch on her belt; it looked like wire, or a needle. Aerona shuddered and looked away.

"You'll feel a bit like you're sort of, spacing out," Haf said. "Like when you're tired. Don't fight it. Go unfocused. Feel protective. Ready?"

"Definitely," Aerona smiled. Haf nodded, positioning her fingers around Rhian's skull.

"If you would, Leader," she said, closing her eyes, and the last thing Aerona was properly aware of hearing was Iolo's gagged scream, lancing through the trees and bouncing off the buildings before everything suddenly became...

... distant. Dream-like, almost. An outer part of Aerona was aware of her surroundings, could see the people, smell the smoke and leaves, hear the screaming, feel the wind, but it felt so very far away, so unimportant. It felt like it was happening to someone else. Dimly, she hoped someone else would take care of it. It was nice, just drifting, content to just... be...

But there was something important. The breeze on her skin, the ground beneath her, the uniform she wore; she felt them all detachedly, but not... The girl in her arms. The girl in her arms, clutched close; so small, and vulnerable, and precious. Aerona's senses ignored the world around them, wilfully blinding herself to everything else, and focused only on the child. There were things, something that she could only vaguely feel, some odd tingling in the back of her mind that was bad, something bad, coming for the girl, and Aerona tightened her arms, almost snarling. It couldn't happen. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.

The girl was crying. Small hands grabbed for Aerona, the small body desperately clinging to her, and Aerona held on. She was important, this girl was important, and she needed protecting, and Aerona had to protect her from... from...

"Awaken, Rider," Haf whispered, and Aerona blinked. Rhian was clinging to her with a grip like a limpet, sobbing hysterically against her shoulder, the sound undercut with the dreadful, thankfully-muffled scream Iolo was still making. Rhian's father was on his knees inches away, still on the other side of the circle, the tears running down his cheeks as he stared at his daughter. And everyone seemed to be talking at once.

Carefully, Aerona gathered Rhian into her arms and turned to her father. Passing the child across proved trickier than expected; she refused to let go of Aerona, until in the end Aerona turned her back to the man so that Rhian faced him over her shoulder and gently ran her fingers through Rhian's hair.

"You're safe now, Rhian," Aerona whispered. "Open your eyes. It's okay."

She did, and saw her father.

"Daddy!" she screamed, and finally Aerona could pass her across.

"Well," Haf said. "If they all go like that we'll be fine. I should say, mind, that this is a deeply unpleasant experience. And we'll be here a while, there are seventeen of them."

"I can keep this up," Awen offered placidly, and Haf snorted.

"Oh yeah, and she terrifies me," she told Aerona, jerking her head at Awen. "Just so you know. Anyway. Can you do that another seventeen times? I should warn you again, it's going to hurt if we can't save one."

"So?" Aerona said, blankly, and Haf gave her a look.

"Oh, who didn't see that coming?" she asked facetiously. "Fine. Grab the next one. We'll crack on."