and look around him with knowing eyes. He was followed closely by his brother, Dudod. Then Anieron’s daughter, El- star, and her husband, Elidyr, and their two sons stepped onto the path. Gwydion’s daughter, Cariadas, was with them. He longed to go to her but somehow knew that he could not.
Myrrdin made his way up the road, his arm around the shoulders of a young man whom Gwydion knew to be Arthur. And Arthur, slim and tall, with his auburn hair and his dark eyes, left Myrrdin to stand next to Gwydion at this terrible crossroads.
And then, most surprising of all, a woman stepped out of the tall grass. Her long dark hair was black as night and her eyes were a startling emerald green. She walked up the road to stand on Gwydion’s other side, and he instantly knew her— Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, the woman of the House of Llyr who had disappeared so long ago. She was holding the hand of a young girl with blond hair whom Gwydion somehow knew to be her daughter, Gwenhwyfar. The sunny-haired girl reached out and clasped Arthur’s hand tightly.
Thus the four of them—Gwydion, Rhiannon, Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar—stood together, the rest of Kymru fanning out behind them, standing silently at the crossroads beneath the darkening sky, waiting for the one who would make the choice. And at last he came.
Out of the tall wind-swept grass a man rose up, golden and proud. His hair was honey-blond, and his eyes were amber, set above high cheekbones in a handsome, powerful face. As he made his way up to the crossroads, the crowd parted before him like water. And then he stopped, staring at Gwydion. For a mo- ment they looked at each other. And for a moment it seemed to Gwydion that he had always known this man. Face to face they stood silently as the wind grew stronger, whipping around the Golden Man and the Dreamer.
The man looked up the road to the right and took a hesitant step in that direction. Gwydion sighed in relief. But then the golden man looked back to the left road and all was lost. For in the middle of that road a helmet of gold appeared. It was fash- ioned like the head of a boar, with tusks of ivory and ruby eyes. Trans fi xed, the Golden Man stepped onto the left road, reach- ing for the helmet. He raised it high, and the lightning began to
fl ash. Jagged spars reached down from the sky, bathing the left road in fi re. The golden man lowered the helmet over his head, and the right road suddenly vanished from the plain. There was only one road now, the road of fi re leading into darkness.
One by one the people took the left road, following the Golden Man down, down into the dark. Gwydion was pulled helplessly along with the rest, terror-stricken, his heart pound- ing. But Rhiannon held tightly to his hand, giving him strength in this horror as the darkness loomed over him and swallowed him whole.
A S G WYDION JERKED awake, the thought came clearly. Cross- roads—the place where decisions are made. Something had happened, somewhere. The Golden Man, whoever he was, wherever he was, had made a decision to travel the left road down to darkness, taking everyone with him.
And as he thought that, the wind came up, whipping through the mountains, reaching even into the Chamber of Prophecy, stirring the fi re in the brazier. The gale shook the tower, scraping over the stone, tumbling leaves with the sound of bones rattling, making the mountains shiver. And bringing with it the faroff sound of a hunting horn as the Wild Hunt rode the night sky.
C hapter 3
Camlan, Marc of Gillingas, Aecesdun, Marc of Cantware & Athelin, Marc of Ivelas
Weal of Coran, Coranian Empire Falmonath & Sifmonath, 488
H
Wodaeg, Sol 11—early afternoon
avgan walked through the ruins of the once-white halls of Ealh Galdra, the Temple of Magic. Though the roof was long gone, the stone pillars that had
once held it were still standing. Here and there white glim- mered from stones stained with dirt, age, and soot—for the fi re that had raged
Myrrdin made his way up the road, his arm around the shoulders of a young man whom Gwydion knew to be Arthur. And Arthur, slim and tall, with his auburn hair and his dark eyes, left Myrrdin to stand next to Gwydion at this terrible crossroads.
And then, most surprising of all, a woman stepped out of the tall grass. Her long dark hair was black as night and her eyes were a startling emerald green. She walked up the road to stand on Gwydion’s other side, and he instantly knew her— Rhiannon ur Hefeydd, the woman of the House of Llyr who had disappeared so long ago. She was holding the hand of a young girl with blond hair whom Gwydion somehow knew to be her daughter, Gwenhwyfar. The sunny-haired girl reached out and clasped Arthur’s hand tightly.
Thus the four of them—Gwydion, Rhiannon, Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar—stood together, the rest of Kymru fanning out behind them, standing silently at the crossroads beneath the darkening sky, waiting for the one who would make the choice. And at last he came.
Out of the tall wind-swept grass a man rose up, golden and proud. His hair was honey-blond, and his eyes were amber, set above high cheekbones in a handsome, powerful face. As he made his way up to the crossroads, the crowd parted before him like water. And then he stopped, staring at Gwydion. For a mo- ment they looked at each other. And for a moment it seemed to Gwydion that he had always known this man. Face to face they stood silently as the wind grew stronger, whipping around the Golden Man and the Dreamer.
The man looked up the road to the right and took a hesitant step in that direction. Gwydion sighed in relief. But then the golden man looked back to the left road and all was lost. For in the middle of that road a helmet of gold appeared. It was fash- ioned like the head of a boar, with tusks of ivory and ruby eyes. Trans fi xed, the Golden Man stepped onto the left road, reach- ing for the helmet. He raised it high, and the lightning began to
fl ash. Jagged spars reached down from the sky, bathing the left road in fi re. The golden man lowered the helmet over his head, and the right road suddenly vanished from the plain. There was only one road now, the road of fi re leading into darkness.
One by one the people took the left road, following the Golden Man down, down into the dark. Gwydion was pulled helplessly along with the rest, terror-stricken, his heart pound- ing. But Rhiannon held tightly to his hand, giving him strength in this horror as the darkness loomed over him and swallowed him whole.
A S G WYDION JERKED awake, the thought came clearly. Cross- roads—the place where decisions are made. Something had happened, somewhere. The Golden Man, whoever he was, wherever he was, had made a decision to travel the left road down to darkness, taking everyone with him.
And as he thought that, the wind came up, whipping through the mountains, reaching even into the Chamber of Prophecy, stirring the fi re in the brazier. The gale shook the tower, scraping over the stone, tumbling leaves with the sound of bones rattling, making the mountains shiver. And bringing with it the faroff sound of a hunting horn as the Wild Hunt rode the night sky.
C hapter 3
Camlan, Marc of Gillingas, Aecesdun, Marc of Cantware & Athelin, Marc of Ivelas
Weal of Coran, Coranian Empire Falmonath & Sifmonath, 488
H
Wodaeg, Sol 11—early afternoon
avgan walked through the ruins of the once-white halls of Ealh Galdra, the Temple of Magic. Though the roof was long gone, the stone pillars that had
once held it were still standing. Here and there white glim- mered from stones stained with dirt, age, and soot—for the fi re that had raged
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