Cymru - Chapter 28

AWEN

When Awen woke up the rest of the Wing was there. Her head had been put onto someone's lap, Caradog's by the feel and smell of it, and his hand was resting on her ribs. Someone else's fingers were moving gently through her hair, a movement that was supremely relaxing; mentally, Awen bet herself that it would be Eluned. They were all talking in soft voices, apparently scattered about the room.

"Do that again and I'll break your fingers," Tanwen was saying companionably from the direction of the gwyddbwyll board. Awen smiled to herself.

"Worth a shot," Meurig said diffidently. "It works against Caradog."

"That's because Caradog doesn't have any finesse or understanding of this game," Tanwen said, and beneath her cheek Awen felt the rumble of Caradog's suppressed laugh.

"No," he agreed merrily. "I don't. Last time I played I won by sweeping the pieces to the floor and punching Owain in the face."

"Good for you," Eluned said quietly from above Awen's head as Meurig and Cei both started cheering before being shushed by the others.

"I think we should spend a pleasant five minutes remembering all the times Owain got hurt," Llio said thoughtfully from the corner. "I'll go first: Caradog stamping on his feet in order to get served first in that tavern."

"That arrow wound that got infected!"

"Lady Marged told me his fringe looked like two slugs."

"Ha!"

"Caradog replacing his boots with a size too small. Laughed for a week, I did."

"I'm sure Adara used to set Gwenhwyfar on him deliberately. She always denied it, but..."

"He got kicked in the shin by a cow two weeks ago."

"Clever cow."

"That's what I thought."

"Remember when Caradog pushed him in the river in Cwmbrân?"
"That time Llyr shut his fingers in his stable door."

"Unintentionally! Although in retrospect deeply satisfying. He made me oil his harness for that."

"Remember when Awen told him he thought maturity was a word that only applied to cheese?"

"I remember that!"

"You weren't supposed to be listening to that," Awen murmured placidly, eyes still closed, and suddenly she had the sensation of eight people drawing near without actually touching her.

"We're rebels," Caradog said, his grin audible. "And nothing has ever been more worth it. Although we all had fractured ribs from trying not to laugh."

"Anyway, you must have known but weren't angry then, so you can't be angry now," Llyr said, pushing her hips aside and sitting next to her. He stroked a hand gently but firmly up her arm to her chin, tipping her head up slightly to see the wound on her throat. "And it was Caradog's idea."

"Of course it was," Awen said to Llio's snigger. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Although, I didn't know about him making you oil his harness. When was that?"

"Last Half," Llyr shrugged. "But he'd had a bad day, since Caradog had stamped on his feet and Adara had set Gwenhwyfar on him."

Awen looked up at Caradog, who was grinning unabashedly.

"He's a turd, you can't be angry," he said. "And Llio used to give me beer for it, so really it's her fault when you think about it."

"I can't believe you just told on me," Llio said, shaking her head, and Awen glanced at the wall of faces lining the sofa, amused.

"I already knew," she said. "Just as I know that Adara would occasionally rub the blood from Gwenhwyfar's meat on Owain's uniforms - yes, it was deliberate. I'm your Wingleader. And yes, Cei, I do happen to know about the rosehips in his sheets, and I know where that book really came from, Llio, and Meurig and Eluned? Seriously. Talk to each other. You both want more."

"It was only the once," Cei muttered, almost drowned out by the sudden cacophany of 'Owned, guys!' and general laughter and slightly awkward looks between Meurig and Eluned filling the lolfa. Awen shook her head.

"Don't even try that," she said, sitting up and stretching. "I also know about the rest. Right. How went Sovereigning, Llyr?"

"Fine," he smiled. "I brought back the papers for you to see, and Lady Erys was sad not to see you after you played such a wonderful piece on the harp last year. Oh, and Lady Marged gave me a scarf for you."

"How very kind of her," Awen nodded. "What are you not asking me, Llyr?"

"Adara came in briefly, although she's gone to bed," he said, giving her one of his patented Worried Looks. "She said there's something big and political going on with Lord Flyn."

Bloody Adara, Awen thought, and pulled a face for Llyr's benefit.

"Yeah," she said heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Superb timing too, isn't it? It's mostly under control though."

"Cool," Caradog said happily. "Can you tell us gory details?"

"Not until after the Archwiliad, I shouldn't think," Awen yawned. "And we'll fly up tomorrow, probably -"

"Right," Tanwen broke in, yanking Llyr out of his seat and nimbly stealing it. Admirably, he barely twitched. "More importantly, what do we know about Owain now? What have you found?"

"No one," Awen said calmly, snapping into Giving Orders Mode as easily as breathing, "is to open his wardrobe. Understood?"

They all nodded silently.

"Good," she said, hesitating, and then went for broke. "He has a mirror in there."

The reaction was explosive. It was a fighting Wing, and they lived off each others' emotions. It would only have taken one of them getting angry to put the others on edge, but all of them together magnified the problem. Suddenly everyone was on their feet, talking at once, body language shifting into the aggressive; Meurig was gripping his hair fiercely with one hand, Eluned's shoulder with the other, who had one hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of a dagger; Tanwen was standing but frozen, staring at Awen; Llyr and Llio had both taken several steps towards the sleeping quarters before stopping themselves, Llio's eyes still trained on the door; Cei had actually turned away to the fireplace and was facing the wall, head bowed and knuckles white, gripping the mantlepiece; and Caradog's enormous frame had hunched over her, his broad shoulders rippling with tension and filling Awen's vision, fingers digging into her ribs. Awen forced herself to stay still and relaxed.

"A mirror?" Caradog all but roared. "That fucking-"

"How? How did he manage that?" Llio whirled around, pacing back and forth. "How did he get it in -?"

"If it was covered we could have thought it was anything," Llyr said, distractedly. "A new door, he could have said. Anything."

"And he was looking in it?" Eluned asked, voice tight. "How long? How long has it been there?"

"I'm going to rip off his scrotum," Caradog snarled. "And nail it to his fucking face."

"Sit down," Awen ordered calmly.

It was like she'd said magic words or something. Everyone fell silent and made themselves sit again, clearly with an effort. Caradog wrapped one enormous arm around her ribs and hauled her upright onto his lap.

"How do you know about this?" he growled. "You didn't see yourself, did you?"

"No," she assured him, and there was a collective mood of relief in the room. "Only my knees, with whom I'm fairly well-aquainted."

"But why have one?" Llyr asked quietly. He was staring at the ceiling intently, one arm wrapped around himself, the other holding his beads. "Why would he feel the need to do that? Is it... symbolic? Did he decide he didn't want to be a Rider anymore and so got a mirror as part of it?"

"Good gods," Llio muttered as Tanwen shivered. "How could he do that?"

Awen stared at Llyr.

"Actually," she said carefully, "this is a very good point."

Why did he have a mirror? Why the mirror? With Breguswid's information Awen was now thinking that Owain had simply bought into Flyn's probable excuse of his actions being for the good of Cymru. But in that case, surely he felt he was still a Rider? Surely he felt much as Awen did as an Intelligencer, in fact? The rules super applied. But he had a mirror. It didn't fit.

You know what I don't understand? If he was using a mirror, and looking at himself, and knew what his face looked like, why was he still arrogant?

It had just been funny at the time, but Adara was actually right, to a point. Owain couldn't have enjoyed looking at himself. Why get a special mirror, just for you, when you looked like a gargoyle's disfigured inbred dwarf brother? Surely you wouldn't want one then? Unless the point was... freedom, the thrill of breaking a concrete law laid down for you all your life...

I can’t tell you. Not yet. Please, Awen? This is really important. You have to trust me.

"I think he still thinks... he's being a Rider," Awen said, her thoughts rushing ahead. She was on the edge; there was something important here, something she nearly had, something... "I think he thinks he's doing something important -"

"He cut your throat," Caradog snarled, tightening his hold on her, but Llyr looked thoughtfully at the door to the bedrooms.

"Then it's not there for him," he said. "It's -"

"There for us," Awen said. The facts spiralled in. "There's something in there -"

She leapt off the sofa, or tried to. Caradog's arms proved a momentary barrier as he reacted rather more slowly to the situation and letting go of her, which gave Llyr time to get to his feet. Awen grabbed the poker from beside the fire.

"No one go in there," she commanded quickly, halting Meurig at the door who seemed even more intent on getting there ahead of her than Llyr. Everyone was on their feet again. She recognised the problem. They were all getting over-protective of her. "That includes Adara, should she decide to wake up in the next five minutes and follow me in, understood? Llyr, with me."

"This - Leader," Llio said, hugging herself nervously. "I think we should get someone else to do it. Someone who isn't a Rider."

"I agree." Meurig had a hand on the doorknob still, not moving as Awen approached. "This isn't safe. You found it and didn't see yourself once, but that's already lucky, what -?"

"I am not having a non-Rider walking into that room to find a mirror," Awen said sharply. "For several reasons. And I know where it is and what I'm doing. I'm not risking any of you. Move, Meurig."

He did, clearly reluctant, and Awen squeezed his shoulder briefly in passing before pushing through to the corridor to allay any more protests. Llyr followed her, carefully closing the door behind himself to keep the others in the lolfa. He stayed quiet until they were safely inside Owain's room, door firmly shut.

"Are you sure?" Llyr asked, voice low. "We may be wrong, you know."

Awen glanced at his long face, the faint concern obvious.

"Do you think we are?" she asked, and he gave a wry smile.

"No," he said. "I don't. And nor do you, and you're wrong about things so rarely that I've learned to just run with you. I just felt I ought to give final voice to the feelings of the Wing."

"Like a good Deputy," Awen grinned as he rolled his eyes. "Want the job?"

"Next raid? We die," Llyr told her, moving over to the wardrobe. "Seriously. My battle plans can be summed up by the word 'charge'."

"Maybe we can have two." Awen ran a hand along the lip of the blanket poking out of the closed wardrobe door at the top, checking to see how stable it was. "Caradog can take over for thumping people. Hold this blanket, it's covering the mirror. Don't let it fall when the door opens."

"Got it," Llyr said, grasping the wool with excessive firmness. It was strange how a man Awen had watched decapitating people without a flicker of emotion was looking nervous at the prospect of a polished sheet of glass. Carefully, she twisted the latch and opened the door.

The blanket held, hiding the mirror completely. Awen exchanged a glance with Llyr, who was watching her steadily.

"I think behind the mirror," she said, and he sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "So do I. How do you want to do it? Satisfying as just breaking it would be, the shards will still be reflective."

"I know." Very carefully, Awen moved the blanket right to the edge of the mirror, running her fingernails between the glass and the wood. "But - yes, I thought so. It's been screwed on, not glued."

Llyr looked blank. "So?"

"Anything behind it must be thin, paper probably. And the glass isn't completely flush to the wood, so he could just slide it behind; but in that case -"

"The base of it must be plugged," Llyr nodded. "To stop it falling out."

Awen ran her fingers along the base of the mirror.

"Wax," she nodded. "I can get that off. And then if nothing falls out I'll have a go at the screws with your dagger, and then if that doesn't work I'll just chuck the poker at it and risk the glass with my eyes closed."

"You have the best plans," Llyr told her, unimpressed. Awen shrugged as the wax crumbled over her fingers.

"It's the third option, not the first," she said. "Actually, hand me your dagger now. Quicker at destroying wax."

"You should get dressed," Llyr the Mother Hen said. "Then you'd have your own."

"Shut up."

"Leader."

The wax simply fell off when the dagger came into play, and Awen carefully pushed the blade flat behind the unseen glass and angled it slightly outwards -

Llyr gave a satisfied laugh as the folded sheets of paper fell out and Awen grinned.

"Idiot," he said as she unfolded the first paper. "Always did think he was cleverer than he was. What are they?"

Awen was silent for a moment, staring at the papers in front of her, her mind racing.

"You know this... political thing I need to handle at the moment?" she said eventually, her voice quiet. Llyr nodded, the concern back.

"Yeah," he said. "It's linked with that?"

"Very much so." Awen looked at the signatures, the seals. "Very much so. I'm so sorry."

"You can't tell us yet," Llyr said steadily. "It's okay, Leader. We understand. But."

She looked up and met his intense grey gaze.

"You tell Adara," he said, and the world suddenly seemed to shift into the surreal as Awen found herself on the receiving end of an order from one of her own Riders for the first time in her life. "She already knows about the rest, or a lot of it at least. And you can't handle all of this completely alone, Awen. I won't let you. Tell her."

There was a pause, in which Awen stared rather more than she normally did at Llyr.

"Okay," she said at last. "I'll tell her what I can, anyway. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." He gave her a small smile. "I'll accept that. Sorry."

"You're forgiven." Awen looked down, gathering the papers into a pile, and realised suddenly that the lump in her throat was back. It was bizarre. "And now; I need to get dressed, and track someone down."

And, she thought as she glanced at the papers, get into Flyn's personal quarters. Specifically his bedroom and the safe he kept hidden in there, but that wasn't going to be easy. Flyn was a man who knew when to start covering his tracks, and he knew that Owain was now a weak link for him; there would probably be so many guards and clerks and such about there she'd have to crowd surf her way to the door. And getting Alis out was very much the priority.

Her intention was to be that quick about it, too, but the Wing had other plans. She'd thrown on the first clothes she found, the same uniform she'd been wearing for the latter half of yesterday for speed's sake, and was halfway across the lolfa before Cei stopped her, neatly inserting his stocky frame between her and the door with Eluned beside him.

"Whoa," he said, putting out a hand that held her shoulder firmly. "Hang on. You can't go out like that."

Awen glanced at his and Eluned's worried faces, expressions reflected in everyone else, and swore mentally. She recognised this problem too; Rider status anxiety. And there was no point fighting this one.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, which was unexpectedly easy until she remembered she'd taken the braids out last night.

"All right," Awen said. "But this has to be quick, I'm in a hurry. We don't have six hours for you to cover my head in plaits."

"That's fine." Eluned's quiet voice was bright and warm. "You need to get changed first, you can't wear that. Come on."

They went back to her room where Eluned and Cei very carefully selected a new uniform out of the wardrobe and helped her to put it on, which at least sped up the process, and then Awen was marched back out to the lolfa where Meurig and Llyr had already gathered the Combs of Seven Hours of Boredom and a selection of hair ties, and Llio was fetching down the make-up box.

"Seriously," Awen said warily, eyeing the box and combs. "I don't have much time."

"It's fine." Eluned pushed her into a low-backed chair and drew her hair almost lovingly back. "We'll just brush it and put in two plaits, to keep it out of your face."

"If you'd let me cut it off this wouldn't be necessary," Awen said hopelessly, and Cei scowled at her as he picked up a Comb and handed another to Eluned.

"You're not cutting it off, Leader," he said firmly. "And anyway, it would be necessary. Llio's hair only reaches her chin, and we still take time on her."

"Am I as ugly as Owain?" Llio asked as she pulled up her own chair in front of Awen and opened the box. There was a collective pause.

"No," Awen said finally. "Absolutely not. Er... why?"

"Excellent." Llio grinned as she pulled out a small pot of foundation and lifted the lid; the combined, subtle scents of fat and ochre and beeswax filled the room. "Because, you see, he was really ugly, but we're all avoiding talking about it because we're all thinking that we might be, too. Except Adara, who has no compunctions. But I know none of you are, and now I know I'm not, so now we can all discuss it."

"Genius!" Caradog said gleefully. "Gods, that fringe, eh?"

"Lady Marged told me it looked like two slugs."

"His beads always looked stapled on," Meurig said thoughtfully. "That was weird."

"I didn't like the relationship between his nose and mouth," Awen said, closing her eyes as Llio's fingers worked a tiny amount of the foundation into her skin. She liked having her make up done by Llio. The girl had a genuine talent for leaving people looking completely natural. "Too long and too wide. And his nose was weird anyway."

"Sort of flat," Tanwen said. "And he was awful in bed."

There was a pause.

"I really didn't think you were going to admit to that," Awen grinned. "Llio, don't stop. I need to go, remember?"

"You had sex with Owain?" Caradog said, staring at Tanwen. "What - why? Why?"

"Adara dared me to," Tanwen grinned. "Well-endowed, but didn't have a clue how to use it."

"You actually had sex with Owain for a dare?" Caradog asked, and there was awe in his voice. "Tanwen! You've turned up."

"So has Adara," Llio grinned, putting the lid back on the foundation pot and rummaging in the box for her next implement. "I'm never playing Truth or Dare with you two. You don't fight fair."

"I want details," Caradog said, his eyes slightly glazed. "I need details."

"I'm not giving them," Tanwen sniffed. "It was unremarkable, that's all."

"And all about him?" Awen asked as Llio pulled out the next pot of beeswax, pigmented brown with ochre and charcoal. Tanwen grinned as Caradog looked at her in horror.

"Oh gods, don't tell me you -"

"No," Awen laughed. "Just good at guessing."

"Look at my chin," Llio murmured, her finger carefully brushing across Awen's eyelashes. Behind her, Eluned and Cei finished with the Combs and Meurig got up to help with the plaiting.

"Anyway," Tanwen said silkily. "I'm not the only person in this Wing to have done so."

"What? Who?" Caradog sat bolt upright on the sofa. "Was it Llyr? Tell me it was Llyr!"

"You know I did," Llyr said, rolling his eyes. "But when we were fifteen, it hardly counts."

"Someone else," Tanwen said gleefully. Caradog ran his fingers through his beard.

"It couldn't be Adara," he said. "She'd have bitten him. It's not Awen. It's not Llyr, and you've already admitted it. It's definitely not me. Cei? Confess!"

"Once or twice," Cei said awkwardly, and Caradog almost crowed with laughter. Llio very carefully started smudging a finger along Awen's lower lash-line. "Shut up. I thought it might help him fit in with the Wing a bit better."

"But he just saw it as a chance to be all dominant?" Awen asked. Llio pulled out the next pot.

"Yeah," Cei said. "Did you know, Leader?"

"Yes," Awen said. Meurig snorted.

"Do you know everything we do, Leader?" he said grinning as Llio's fingers ghosted over her cheekbones. "Don't answer that. Clearly you do."

"Didn't know about Owain, though," Awen said quietly. Caradog growled.

"You shouldn't have had to," he said darkly.

No, Awen thought. But I should have anyway.

*********

The top half of her hair had been woven back into a pair of Gaulish plaits by the time Eluned was done, the rest left loose; mercifully, it only took an extra ten minutes or so for everyone to be happy with the results and then Awen was allowed to leave, freshly groomed and turned out and apparently not looking as though she'd barely slept in three days. Certainly no one gave her an alarmed look as she passed them in the corridors, so she couldn't have looked like some sort of freakish horror show, and that was all she really asked for. Anything else was a bonus.

It was going to be another busy day, Awen reflected gloomily. She needed to find Alis, and see what she could do there; she needed to look over the reports from all of the Sovereigns she'd missed; she needed to report on them all to Lord Flyn; and now she needed to report to the Union again. And she needed to think. Because suddenly, something was very subtly shifted in the situation, and she needed to work out what.

But first, she went to see Ioan. She found him having a late breakfast in the back kitchens where a lot of Riders liked eating, sitting with an easy comfort at the long, scrubbed wooden table and benches, chatting happily to the cooks around him while he ate the laverbread with his fingers. He grinned and Saluted lazily as she approached, nudging the bench opposite with his foot in invitation. Awen took it.

"Morning," she said, deftly snagging a slice of bacon from his plate. "Nice to see you're hard at work."

"You wound me, Leader!" Ioan chuckled. "I'm hard at work keeping Mari here company, who is new. Mari? This terrifying yet attractive vision in leather is Alpha Wingleader Awen."

"Rider," Mari smiled nervously. She was young, maybe eighteen, with frizzy red hair and freckles across her nose. Currently, it seemed she was manning the bacon stone. "It's an honour."

"Likewise," Awen smiled warmly, nibbling the bacon. It was well-cooked. "When did you join?"

"Day before yesterday, Rider," she said. "Do you want some breakfast? I'm doing the bacon anyway, I can easily throw some together."

"Say yes," Ioan advised, liking a thumb clean. "The laverbread is divine. Mari's a cook with a future."

"Well, then, how can I refuse?" Awen said amiably. "And I've not eaten yet, so it's probably a good idea."

Mari beamed.

"Rider," she said happily, and bustled off towards a table across the room from them, grabbing a brass scuttle to get the oats from their enormous jar. Ioan watched her go, smiling slightly, and turned back to Awen.

"She has four younger siblings and is here to suppliment her mam's income," he said, breaking one of the laverbreads in half and handing it across. "Father died two years ago. Saxon."

"On the subject of Saxons, find me later," Awen said. "I have possibly the most astonishing tale of them you'll ever hear."

"I look forward to it," Ioan said casually, although Awen could hear the note of transfixed interest. "Any news on the Owain front?"

"Possibly," Awen nodded as Mari wandered past them to fetch a cup of flour. "Is Lord Flyn safe?"

"Very much so," Ioan nodded. "I've arranged a rota of people to be with him at all times, all carefully chosen so that no one Wing is down by more than one Rider." All Intelligencers, in other words. "No one is getting to him who shouldn't."

"Excellent," Awen grinned. The laverbread was good too. She approved of Mari. "Oh, and did you send that letter for me?"

"Yeah. Well," Ioan said indifferently, stretching, "Heledd did, I delegated to get the bodyguard rota sorted. But she did, no problems."

"Cheers for that." Awen thanked every god she had mentally. Now as long as Iona could somehow pull through her horrific injuries... "And sorry for asking. I'd have done it myself if it hadn't been for Owain."

"Nah, you're alright." Ioan broke another laverbread in half as Mari wandered back to the bakestone with a fresh batch and laid them down to cook among the bacon fat. "I got to feel useful. Do you need anything else?"

"A less stressful life," Awen said dreamily. "I'd love one of those. Do you reckon the Union would demote me in I asked nicely?"

"No," Ioan said. "Which I for one am glad of, since then I'd have to do your job, and you aren't selling it to me."

"Good point," Awen nodded. "It's great really, honestly. It's all just running around with a big comically-sized mallet and hitting people on the head who do naughty things. You'll love it. Anyway; I need to give the final report to Lord Flyn. What's his timetable like today?"

"He's in the courts until three, so you'll have to wait until then," Ioan said neutrally. "Four hours, that gives you. Although if I know you you'll be busy enough to fill that time."

"And then some," Awen nodded as the plate of laverbread and bacon finally landed on the table in front of her, and she smiled at Mari. "But there's always time for breakfast."

***********

She only took ten minutes for breakfast and then went straight to the dungeons, but even so her four hours were nearly up by the time Awen finally found Alis Morgannwg. She was in a room at the end of one of the side passages that consisted of four bare plaster walls and a straw-and-sacking mattress on the floor, with only one tiny window high in the back wall to let in light. The guards had been stationed right back at the start of the passage, and without even checking Awen knew the walls would be soundproofed. Alis was being kept in isolation. It made her more likely to bond to Flyn when he came to rape her. She bypassed the guards and went straight to the cell.

Fortunately, Awen had met Alis' mother, and had learned what to expect from the Morgannwg women. She opened the door and dodged as the elbow jabbed viciously into the place her nose had been, slipping nimbly into the room and slamming the door closed again behind her before Alis could run, and then turned to face her -

"Traitorous bitch!" Alis hissed, striking out again. Awen ducked and sprang back, adrenaline flooding her system in a welcome rush like an old friend, her hands raised as placatingly as she could. "Riders! Riders! You're supposed to protect us! You're supposed to -"

"I'm not fighting you," Awen broke in, dancing away and resisting the urge to grab Alis' wrists. "I'm here to help, it's okay -"

"Like hell you are," Alis snarled, although she stopped fighting briefly, her stance clearly stating that she was ready to start again. Now that Awen could see her properly the strain of the past week was written large across Alis; she was young, early twenties with a delicately heart-shaped face and large eyes, framed by long wavy hair that was now hanging in lank, tangled knots from her head. Her skin was covered in grime and mottled bruising, her wrists almost purple in finger-shaped marks, and her clothes were little more than rags where they'd been torn away from her and she'd tried to cover herself with them again. Her lip was split in two places. "Like the last one was? Your Deputy, Alpha Wingleader? Like he helped?"

"Join the club," Awen said, pulling her collar down to show the throat wound. "This is from him. I fully intend to feed him his own feet as soon as I catch him."

"He gave you that?" Alis watched for a second, her eyes burning, and then shook her head, backing away. "No," she said. "No, no no. No. I don't - I don't believe you. Your Deputy? He wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't."

"And you're more willing to believe that than the idea of the Union being unaware of what's happening to your family?" Awen asked, genuinely horrified. What the hell had Owain told her? How had this girl ended up with this opinion? "I - Alis, no one even knows about you here. I only found out about Gareth and your mother yesterday -"

"Where are they?" Alis froze, her gaze boring into Awen. "Are they safe? What's happened?"

"Gareth's fine," Awen said, trying not to sound as shaken as she felt. "Honestly. I've sent him to the Union under guard, no one's getting to him now."

"Gareth." Alis wrapped her arms around herself, and Awen noted the stiffness, the way she shifted her fingers about on her ribs before settling them. She seemed calmer, more under control. "Okay. And Mam? Mam-Gu?"

"Your grandmother died a few days ago," Awen said quietly. "Your mother was still alive yesterday when I found them, and I've sent her to the Union too."

"But in a bad way, yeah?" Alis' eyes were roving about the room, apparently incapable of staying still. It was reminiscent of Dylan. "How bad?"

"Bad," Awen said. "Now; can you -?"

"How bad?" Alis repeated. "I want - I want to know. Tell me everything he did to her. Everything."

"We don't have time," Awen said, glancing at the door. "It took a long time to find you and Flyn will be out of court in ten minutes -"

"Tell me, Rider," Alis said, leaning against the wall. "I want to know. Every detail."

Awen ran her hands through her hair in frustration. What was it with this family? They were all crazy.

"The interrogation log said various burns to her torso and arms," she said, pacing slightly. "No fingernails on her left hand, no fingers on her right, most of the bones left in her right arm broken. Her elbow was dislocated. He'd broken her jaw and a few of her teeth that I could see. One eye was damaged. But, as I said to her, the maggots cleaned away the gangrenous flesh, which may well have saved her life, and both legs are fine. Oh, and a few ribs were broken."

Alis was looking at her feet, nodding, no sign of emotion evident on her face. Awen wondered if she'd absorbed the information properly. She'd met rape victims before; sometimes the ordeal simply became too much, and the mind closed down.

"Right," Alis said finally, and then she looked up, her burning eyes locking onto Awen's again. "What do I do? What do you need?"

"You out of here," Awen said. "And we don't have much time-"

"No," Alis said, her gaze intense. "This is wrong. This has all been wrong, hasn't it? You said this wasn't allowed. I know no one in my family has been speaking with Saxons -" She spat the word with more venom than a Rider. " - and whatever the crime, what he's done to me..."

Would never have been allowed. The Cymric had religious, spiritual and cultural views on sex that made rape the most abhorrent of all crimes in their social mindset. And Alis, Awen realised, had decided how she needed to deal with it.

"You're going to take him down," Alis said, her voice unsteady in strange counterpoint to her unwavering, blazing eyes. "That's your job, yeah? You're going to stop him. You need proof for that. What do you need? What do I do?"

"I think I wish half of your family had been Riders," Awen said quietly. "Because damn you'd have been good. There's a safe in Flyn's bedroom, hidden under the carpet in the corner by the window; he generally has some item of furniture or other over it. The order to get in is yellow, green, green, blue, yellow. I need you to take out whatever contents you find - it'll probably be paper, like as not - and put it in a folder I'll bring into the room."

"You'll bring it in?" Alis asked. She didn't seem to have blinked.

"Yes. If you still want to do this," Awen said carefully, "you're going to have to make them all think they've won. They've broken you. Do you understand?"

"Worth it," Alis said. She didn't even twitch. "Worth all of it. All of it, if I see him burn at the end. I'll take whatever I have to, Rider, whatever I have to. What do I do?"

"You need to go... blank, is the best way to describe it," Awen said. "Hollow. Don't talk, cry, shout, make any sign that anything is reaching you. Tired and resigned are the only emotions you're allowed to show. Don't make eye contact. Just do as you're told. Be compliant. Act as though you've imprinted yourself onto him, like -" She thought of another conversation, murmured comfortably among the merod in Aberystwyth. "A duckling onto its mother. If he goes somewhere, try to follow. Not pushily, just... as though you'd be lost without him. Flinching if he touches you is okay, but only if it's flinching. Don't shy away any further. Can you do that?"

"I can do that," Alis said. She seemed to be pulling herself together, forcing the edges of her mind closed by sheer force of will. "Then what?"

"I'll be watching to see if they fall for it," Awen said. "If they do you'll be moved up to his room tonight. I'll know when that happens, and I'll have a diversion set up. We'll make it look as though my Deputy might be around. I'll come to Flyn's room to move him, although he'll hide you, probably in the bathroom or the wardrobe or something. I'll leave a folder on the bed. Put the documents in there. When I bring him back to his room I'll re-collect the folder."

"But I'll be stuck there still," Alis said, eerily calm. Awen watched her.

"Yes," she said. "You could try scratching his eyes out at that point if you liked, though. With luck that would get you sent back here, and then I can get you out. But that might not work. It'll certainly hurt."

"You're the first person I've met since I came here who hasn't beaten or raped me," Alis said, giving her a grin as cheery as a skull's. "Used to it now. No. You saved Gareth. Fair's fair. I'll get you this. And then watch him burn."

Communal Psychic Part 4

At a run-down abandoned factory. Lyric and Wraith are standing by their motorbike, alert and on their guard. Coming down the track is the Scribbler’s car, Finesse in the driving seat.

LYRIC: Time to find out if that Barkeep is as good as the money we paid him.

Chronal and Amity climb out of the car, followed shortly by Finesse who’s still pulling on her boots, and form a loose circle with the other two.

FINESSE: Ok, let’s do this by-the-book everyone. We’re down one Scribbler, which is never a great start. We still don’t know much about this Antihero, so be prepared for anything.

AMITY: Can you sense anything, Finesse?

FINESSE: You know, it’s odd, but I can’t. There can’t be anyone with powers anywhere near.

AMITY: I can’t feel anyone either. But there is something about this place… it doesn’t feel right.

LYRIC: I know what you mean. And I’m not even an empath.

FINESSE: Ok. Let’s do a sweep and search. Everyone, be on your guard.

They enter the run-down factory.

…

Shift is walking down the darkest alleys of inner Dinas. There is something indolent in her walk, casually brushing her fingertips against things she passes. She is humming under her breath. A slovenly man is collapsed in the filth of the street. He staggers to his feet as she approaches.

SLOVENLY DRUNK: Wass a pretty girl like yew doing in a place like thiss?

Still humming under her breath, Shift ambles past.

SLOVENLY DRUNK: Cor… you’ve got a luverly arse.

She pauses, flexing her shoulder muscles and turns to focus on the Slovenly Drunk, narrowing her eyes. Quick as a snake, she lashes out with one arm, smashing into his head so hard he flies backwards against the wall with a crunch. Resuming her humming, she skips a few paces down the street, a smile on her face.

The Slovenly Drunk lies where he fell, blood trickling from his contorted face. Nearby a pair of beady eyes watches the whole scene, then scuttles away into the darkness.

…

Inside the run-down factory.

FINESSE: Getting anything Amity?

AMITY: No. And it’s horribly frustrating because I really feel that I should.

FINESSE: I know what you mean. There’s something intangible about this place. I can’t put it into words.

CHRONAL: Guys, I don’t feel right. I feel all… slow.

WRAITH: And I feel more… visible than usual.

LYRIC: A power dampener?

FINESSE: It would fit the specs.

WRAITH: Lame.

CHRONAL: We still out number him.

LYRIC: Let’s just hope he doesn’t have goons.

FINESSE: From what I’ve read, that wouldn’t be his style.

CHRONAL: No. He’s a bit of loner, but he’ll definitely be trying to split us up.

AMITY: So let’s all stay together then!

WRAITH: Did anyone order a rat-to-go?

FINESSE: What’s that?

AMITY: Oh, look! There’s a little brown rat watching us.

SKYEA: Squeak.

LYRIC: Anyone speak rat?

FINESSE: Typical. The one time we need a rat-translator and Shift isn’t even here.

SKYEA: Squeeeak. Squeak.

The rat scampers away into a crack in the wall.

CHRONAL: That was odd.

FINESSE: We’ll ask Shift about it later.

WRAITH: Anyone remember what he said?

CHRONAL: No. But I’ve recorded it on my Dictaphone.

FINESSE: Good thinking!

The Scribblers continue through a big doorway into an empty, circular chamber.

AMITY: This room is hideous. I can’t feel anything in here.

She turns and walks back out the door, shivering slightly.

FINESSE: What happened to sticking together?

AMITY: I’ll be by the door. I can’t stay in that place. It’s… empty.

FINESSE: Ok, but take Chronal with you for back up. Nobody’s going off on their own today. Apart from Shift, of course. And come to think of it, where’s Wraith gone?

WRAITH: (from behind) I’m behind you.

FINESSE: Ok, us three will check this big, creepy room and make sure there are no villains lurking in the corners. Although, admittedly circles don’t have corners.

CHRONAL: It could be argued that a circle has an infinite number of corners.

LYRIC: Really?

CHRONAL: No.

FINESSE: If you don’t have anything helpful to say…

CHRONAL: I wouldn’t say that that was unhelpful. As such.

WRAITH: Where’s Amity?

All Scribblers look around in vague confusion.

FINESSE: Amity?

There is a silence. Lyric pulls out his communicator.

LYRIC: Amity? Are you reading me?

There is a crackly noise.

CHRONAL: That was a response. She’s activating her speaker.

LYRIC: Amity? Respond.

ANTIHERO (over the comlink): Amity is not available to answer your call. Please leave a message after the tone.

He laughs maniacally.

WRAITH: What a tool.

LYRIC: I’ll leave you a message, you…

ANTIHERO: I shall have you all for my collection: you cannot escape the ANTIHERO!

FINESSE: Dramatic, much?

CHRONAL: Power-inhibiting, hero-collector. Right! There's an obvious weakness there!

The room grows suddenly darker and a long shadow stretches from the one entrance to the room.

ANTIHERO: I have no weaknesses!

He is easily over eight feet tall, clad in heavy, gothic armour and carrying and enormous sword and shield.

LYRIC: Jesus, Christ!

FINESSE: Just look at that armour...

WRAITH: Its an IronKnuckle2.0.

CHRONAL: Look, if this guy's collected a lot of heroes, that's a lot of powers we could use to our advantage! We just have to keep him out of the way!

LYRIC: My sword's still here! So things I've already made must still work!

ANTIHERO: Silence! I weary of your noise!

ANTIHERO stamps one heavy, iron foot, sending a pulse of energy rippling through the room. It hits the Scribblers with a tremendous force, knocking them from their feet.

SHIFT enters Da Pit, still humming softly under her breath. She skips into the kitchen, opens the fridge and scans the contents. She pulls out a big leg of raw meat and examines it, her eyes becoming narrower and yellowing around the edge. Bearing sharp, feline teeth, she rips into the flesh, her hands becoming increasingly claw-like, until she drops to the floor, fully formed cheetah and shreds the meat from the bone.

A sudden sharp ping makes her jump and stare around. A red light is blinking over on the main console in the next room. She pads into the other room, licking her lips.

SHIFT transforms back into human, wearing a flowing red dress, her hair curling up into a twist of its own accord.

SHIFT: Play message.

CONSOLE: Automated message! Distress beacon activated!

SHIFT: Show beacon.

A screen lights up with a satellite map, showing a bleeping light over the disused factory.

SHIFT blinks and shakes her head, leaning suddenly against the console as if for support.

SHIFT: (shakily) Beacon Identity.

CONSOLE: Amity!

SHIFT starts to shake, her skin begins to ripple, as if numerous minute changes were rolling beneath her skin.

SHIFT: So tired... got to wake up...

With a tremendous effort, SHIFT changes into her superhero colours, throwing her head back with a gasp.

SHIFT: (gasping) What even was that?

SHIFT looks herself over, checking for injuries. She glances over at the console.

SHIFT: Amity! Distress Beacon! I've got to get out of here.

She shifts quickly into a peregrine falcon and prepares to swoop out the window, when a small brown rat scuttles across the window frame and stops to stare at her.

SKEE: Squeak!

SHIFT pauses mid-flight and lands next to the rat, quickly transforming herself into one.

SKEE: Where've you been? Anyway, never mind that. Do you have chocolate for me?

SHIFT: I don't have time for this! My friends are in danger.

SKEE: We have the information you wanted.

SHIFT: Power set?

SKEE: Mars Bar?

SHIFT: Wait here.

SHIFT changes into a falcon again and swoops upstairs. She returns moments later carrying a Mars Bar in her claws and drops it by the rat. She quickly shifts back.

SHIFT: Ok, now tell me!

SKEE: Power inhibitor. Superhero powers get weaker the closer you get to him. Some kind of power pulse. Big armour. Big ego.

SKEE rips at the wrapper and begins to devour the chocolate within.

SHIFT: Thanks! Tell Sqeyke he'll get his share later.

SHIFT transforms back into a falcon and swoops out the window.

***

Cymru - Chapter 27

AERONA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey loser.

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

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

Sorry.

From Dylan.

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

P.P.S. Sorry.

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

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

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

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

'Mahogany.'

She got dressed.

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked into Gareth's immobile face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the bed lay Iona.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was waiting for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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