Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,2

dragon rampant of Powys. He stepped out into the open and several more armed men followed.

Branwen gave a hiss between her clenched teeth.

Captain Angor ap Pellyn of Prince Llew’s court in Doeth Palas. Treacherous follower of a treacherous prince; merciless killer, sly tactician and one of the most cunning leaders in Llew ap Gelert’s rebellion against the king.

Branwen had often wondered how long it would be before she met this man in battle. Had she known he would be in the party coming over the mountains, she would not have been so quick to agree to King Cynon’s orders to bring all of the travellers safe to Pengwern. And how would Iwan react to meeting again the man who had threatened to torture him to death in front of his mother and father?

‘Be wary, men,’ she heard Angor call. ‘We must be sure our enemy is gone ere we bring the princesses out.’

So, it seemed that Angor was as puzzled by the disappearance of the Saxons as she was. And what a curious web fate was weaving, that Branwen and her band were here for his succour. A month gone, they would have fought to the death.

Branwen rose to her feet, pulling back the hood of her ermine cloak. She leaped up high on to a boulder, her white shield up, her sword ready in her fist as she revealed herself to the men of Doeth Palas.

‘Angor ap Pellyn!’ she called. ‘Do you know me?’

Angor started at the sight of her, his heavy-lidded eyes growing wide, his knuckles whitening around his sword hilt. ‘I know you, indeed,’ Angor shouted. ‘You are Branwen of the Dead Gods – the shaman witch girl of Garth Milain, a shame to your kin and a blight to this fair land.’

‘In the eyes of such as you, for sure,’ Branwen laughed. ‘But heed me! I have come in search of the daughters of Llew ap Gelert. Are they safe, Angor ap Pellyn?’

His eyes narrowed, glittering like garnets. ‘What is that to you?’

‘I am here in King Cynon’s name,’ Branwen said. ‘I have been sent to lead Llew’s daughters safely to the royal court.’ She turned, making a wide gesture to the east with her outstretched arm. ‘No way is secure between here and Pengwern,’ she said. ‘The land hides Saxon raiding parties aplenty. But I will guide you true, Angor, if you will follow my lead.’

‘Get you gone!’ shouted Angor. ‘I was a seasoned warrior two score years before you were born. The princesses are under my protection and want for no other.’ Cold contempt came into his voice. ‘Most especially not the aid of one who worships ancient demons.’

Branwen smiled grimly. It was a long time since barbed words such as that had caused her any discomfort. ‘We are the Gwyn Braw!’ she called, ‘the king’s reavers – and you are surrounded. Do as I command, and all will be well.’

Branwen saw fury transform the old soldier’s face, but before he could spit out a response, the sounds of fighting erupted from Branwen’s right. All heads turned at the noise; nothing could be seen through the shrouding trees, but there was shouting and howling, the thud of weapons on shields, the clash of iron on iron, the hiss of arrows.

And above all, Branwen could hear Aberfa’s roaring voice. ‘Gwyn Braw! Gwyn Braw for the king!’

It seemed the Saxons had not departed.

They had been lying in wait, hoping to lure their enemies into the open – and now they had struck.

CHAPTER TWO

An arrow cut a dark path through the air, thudding into the chest of one of Angor’s soldiers. And then came another arrow from the hem of trees, chiming as it glanced off the wall of the tower. A third flew, catching a man in the leg.

‘Saxons, curse them!’ Blodwedd cried. ‘I should have known they were close by! I would have, if not for this deadly cold numbing my senses!’

More arrows came flashing out of the woods to the right. Several men fell. Some crawled back towards the entrance to the tower, others made no further movement.

‘To cover!’ bellowed Angor. He ran for the dark entrance, arrows slicing all around him. With a liquid reflex that would have been astonishing in a man a third his age, he swung his sword, striking an arrow in mid-flight and deflecting it into the sky.

‘Gwyn Braw to me!’ howled Branwen, throwing herself over the boulders and racing towards the sounds of conflict. She was aware of