Night Bird's Reign by Holly Taylor Page B

quickly tied off the birth cord, then severed it. Then he picked up the baby and handed him to Cynan. Cynan gently laid him in the golden bowl of lukewarm water, washing him carefully. Dipping his hands into the jar of oil he cleaned the baby’s ears and nostrils with his little finger. Then he dried the tiny body and put the child into Uthyr’s large, sword-callused hands.
    Uthyr stood for a moment, looking down into the face of his tiny son. The child stopped crying, looking up at his father with wide eyes.
    “His name?” Amatheon asked Ygraine, for the mother alone named her child.
    “I name him Arthur. Arthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine.”
    Slowly, Uthyr raised his hands over his head, lifting the child to the sky, which had just begun to brighten again.
    “I name him Prince of Gwynedd, son and heir to all that I have.” Uthyr said in a tone of quiet wonder.
    Gwydion, watching through the trees heard voices on the wind, the sound of silver bells, the sound of golden chains. “We name him High King of Kymru; heir of Idris, heir of Macsen, heir of the mighty Lleu. We name him Arderydd, High Eagle, quarry of the Hunt. We name him ours.”

Chapter Four
    Tegeingl Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Gwernan Mis, 482
    Lludydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—dusk
    G wydion’s horse stumbled. Jolted out of his reverie, he noticed that dusk was beginning to settle over the quiet forest.
    “Sorry, Elise,” he said to his horse. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” He dismounted and, looking around spotted a clearing just a few yards to his right. Leading the way through the trees, his horse followed with exaggerated patience. When they reached the clearing and Gwydion took off the saddle to rub the horse down, he thought the animal was looking at him somewhat critically. “I said I was sorry,” Gwydion said defensively. Elise did not deign to answer. Instead, the horse slipped away from under Gwydion’s hands and, ambling over to a nearby bush, began to eat. Gwydion sighed. Elise was not the forgiving type.
    Leaving Elise to his meal, Gwydion began to gather wood for the fire, digging a shallow pit with his small shovel and resuming his interrupted musing.
    He did not want to go back to Tegeingl and do what he must do now. But there was no way to avoid it. He had not been to his brother’s city for four years, since the year Arthurs was born. Over and over he had avoided Uthyr’s invitations to return, citing excuse after excuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Uthyr. It was simply that he could not bear to look on Uthyr’s beloved face, knowing what he knew about Uthyr’s son, and not yet being prepared to speak of it.
    He had even avoided returning to Tegeingl two years ago, when his niece had been born. He had been told that tiny Morrigan was a replica of her mother, but that she had her father’s smile and easy charm.
    Yet now he had to return whether he liked it or not. Because, in just four days time, young Arthur ap Uthyr would undergo the Plentyn Prawf, the test given to all children of Kymru to determine if they had the gifts. The test would be public, and, unless Gwydion’s plan worked, all of Kymru would discover that Arthur was destined to be High King. And that was something that had to be avoided for now, no matter what the cost. The child’s safety still lay in anonymity.
    The words of Cerrunnos hammered in his brain as he continued to set up camp for the night. “There are traitors among the Kymri,” the Lord of the Hunt had said. “Remember that those you can trust are few.”
    But that, of course, was something Gwydion had always known. There were very few people he trusted, in any case.
    He knew it would have been better, safer if he had taken Arthur away the day of his birth. But he had found it impossible to do so. He could not have deprived his brother of his firstborn son—not then. The time would come, and it would be soon, when he would have to do just that. He could not wait much longer. He must