23: About To Crack, Defences Breaking

Chapter 23 of "A River Trembles", Book Two of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea. You really need to catch up to make sense of A River Trembles. Go on, save this post and go have a binge read. You deserve it.

Eidothea requests permission to visit Maeve in the Deeps and reconcile her misgivings about Jasper. Lady Angharad shows Rhiannon the autopsy of Gorawyn. Eidothea sneaks out and goes to visit Maeve with Cychwr as protective escort. They discover Maeve’s body without a head.

:Maeve!: I shrieked, spinning about and bolting. Why had this happened? Did this mean failure for the Chosen Court? Unable to bear the sight of her, I sped away from her abode. I had enough sense not to ascend, despite badly wanting to escape this nightmare.

My gills spasmed. I had difficulty drawing in air. I halted, drifting as I tried to steady my breathing. Black spots danced in my vision.

Cychwr joined me. With quiet thoughts, he guided my breaths to slow before he uttered his condolences. :This is a great loss to us all.:

:I…Her head was gone… How?:

:It looked torn off,: Cychwr supplied unhelpfully. :I didn’t stay to examine her, but somebody should. It didn’t seem like … a natural death and why would she die now? She’s part of the new Chosen Court.:

I had no answers for him. We ascended with ponderous care, pausing to acclimate our bodies to the reducing hydrostatic pressure.

:Llyr, I think your friend Cychwr is in trouble.:

I froze. I had met this draig môr at a recent social gathering, but I couldn’t quite place her. I attempted nonchalance. :He’s almost always in trouble, but what makes you say so?:

:Two dreigiau môr from the palace.: At my silent urging, she continued. :They said—: She shared the memory with me. One walked up to the other and said, :Cychwr is with her. We’ll need at least two more dreigiau môr.:

My blood ran cold. :When was this? Do you know if they have already left?:

:Not long ago.: The draig môr shrugged an elegant shoulder. :I didn’t want to linger. They looked like trouble.:

I thanked her and hastened to the gate. If I could reach them in time, between us Cychwr and I could handle this threat.

I found them making the final ascent to the caer’s sea level. Both looked relieved to see me. :I heard there might be trouble, so I thought I’d better come find you. Where’s Maeve? Did you see her?:

:She’s gone, my friend,: Cychwr murmured. :We found her body.:

I stared, dumbstruck. I moaned, unable to find words. Gone? Cychwr moved alongside, and Eidothea followed suit, nestling close. If I had been able to open the bond between us, I would have felt her pain, known this horrible news already. I shuddered. In the last few months, Maeve had become a valued mentor. She had been around for generations. How could she be dead?

I moved forward, out of their comforting embrace. :Be ready,: I told Cychwr, leaving Eidothea out of our conversation. :Trouble is coming.:

At the last resting place to adjust to the lower hydrostatic pressure, a change in water’s pressure warned of their coming.

They charged from below, green and brown dreigiau môr, their bodies moving in synchronised concert.

:Sh—: The shockwave hit us. We tumbled, fanning out, dislodged from our tight grouping. I righted myself, shouting, :Run! Hide!: to Eidothea.

She still tumbled from the shockwave’s blow. Cychwr and I headed for our assailants, fangs bared.

They dove under us, heading for Eidothea. We jack-knifed and sped after the four of them. After the initial dive and gouge, three stayed to fight while the fourth pursued Eidothea.

We had to make short work of them and rescue Eidothea. She could barely swim, let alone fight. Ideally, a dragon battle is a series of single combats, a battle as much of the mind as it is of the body. Instead, the fight devolved into a desperate brawl.

I faced two. I dove, weaved, kicked and gouged. To stop moving meant defeat. Each blow, each slice precisely timed for the most damage.

It meant taking multiple hits. My skin burned and my body felt sore and heavy. The last time I had fought I’d lost. But back then, it had been five to one. The odds were better now.

:Llyr, pincer!: Cychwr hove into view. Behind him, the third draig môr drifted in the current above us, concussed. I slithered free from between the two dreigiau môr. We attacked from opposite sides, driving our attackers together, hampering their fins and tails from easy movement.

Eidothea screamed.

I broke away, getting clawed for my distraction. She struggled with the fourth draig môr. I reached out to her, too far away to actually reach her. My Chosen mark flared blue and light burst from my palm toward them.

I paused long enough to see the draig môr spin away from Eidothea. She bobbed, dazed and bleeding.

Fury rose. I gouged and snapped, allowing my claws to sink deep into my enemy’s flesh. I ripped.

:’Ware!: Cychwr yelled. More dreigiau môr collided with all of us. I kept fighting—no one would be spared except Cychwr and Eidothea.

I darted and snapped. One by one the original two attackers fell away, sinking into the deep, their wounds streaming with blood. With a roar, I spun and charged our new attackers, already in the midst of us. They shouted at me but rage roared in my eardrums along with the incessant pounding of the disturbed waters.

One of them sped toward Eidothea—I struggled to extricate myself from the fight, but I was mobbed. Claws held my arms, legs and tail. Five held me down and yet I still twisted and snarled.

Stars blazed in my vision, a sharp pain across the back of my skull.

That was the last I remember.

I strolled through the extensive palace gardens. Eidothea’s day started early for she was gone when I woke. I appreciated being able to spend time alone to review all I had learned from the palace staff.

Few made use of the gardens. Even the royal family preferred the wild freedom of the sea rather than the cultured calm of the garden.

Someone, sometime, had created and loved these gardens. I wondered if poetry about them existed in a bard’s memory. Staff still kept the grounds in check but bushy seaweed tumbled down the rocky cliffsides, or climbed up the towering palace walls. The paths, at least, were well maintained.

As I wandered, I recalled days with Gorawyn, walking these very grounds, talking about her new life in the palace as Emrys’ beloved consort.

How she bubbled with joy over the match with Emrys. In later days, she grew quieter, thinner, every smile seeming forced. Yet she said nothing further than the pressure to produce an heir. To this day, I wish I had pressed harder, insisted she share her concerns.

For then she was gone. Found dead, mangled, so far from the safety of palace and caer.

My steps took me to a part of the garden I’d been to only once before. Tucked under the eaves of the palace, the path came to an abrupt halt.

In front of me should have been a small garden of profusely flowering corals and weeds. Gorawyn had been with me then. At the sight of it, she recoiled and spun away, claiming we would be seen if we lingered.

My gaze traveled up the palace walls. By now, I had mastered the general layout of the palace. I stood under Lady Angharad’s residence. A few storeys up, woven cloth hung from windows, lapping in the lazy current.

In place of the lush garden beds remained blasted rock, scoured clean of any soil, coral, or life. Nothing had been allowed to regrow here. Why?

As if in answer to my unspoken question, Emrys’ thought entered my mind. :Where are you?:

:In the gardens,: I thought back. :Is your meeting over already?: I hadn’t really had a chance to think deeply about the evidence around Gorowyn’s death, too distracted by the change in front of me. I both wanted to know what happened to her and was afraid of what I’d find. Since the summer solstice and learning about his side of the story, my heart fretted at finding him culpable.

:Mmm.: Warmth curled unwelcome about my heart. :Where shall I find you?:

:The part where there is no garden.:

His tone grew chilly, clipped. :I will be there at once.:

I used the intervening time to examine the area. The rock showed scorch marks in several places. Deep gouges raked through the bedrock. Some parts shone as if scoured and then polished. Magic had happened here.

Emrys swooped in, not even bothering with the conceit of walking along the paths. I watched him descend. :There are nicer parts of the garden.: Emrys reached for me, but I edged away.

:I remember what this used to look like.: I gestured . :Corals of unusual colours, sea ferns nestled by that rock. What happened here?:

:You would have to ask Lady Angharad. This was her corner.:

I eyed Emrys, who stared at the path behind me instead of meeting my gaze, although he held his ground. I folded my arms. :I suspect you know the answer.:

:Suspicions, nothing more. I never came here.:

:Yet you knew where I was in the garden,: I pressed.

He sighed. :It was already like this. It had been reported to me.:

:When?:

:After she, Gorawyn—: His lips twisted. :It could be coincidence this garden was destroyed. Without evidence…: Emrys gaze narrowed. :Those scorch marks look recent.:

At my raised eyebrows, Emrys continued, :Marks like these fade and are easily weathered away. Those look fresh.: He gnawed on his lip. :Don’t bards have an almost perfect gift of recall?:

:Not almost perfect. Perfect.: You couldn’t call yourself a bard otherwise.

:Could you describe the garden to me? In detail?:

I hesitated. :I’m no botanist.:

:Then I shall find one. Maybe they will know what it is that you describe.:

I nodded. :I could share the memory with them.:

Emrys crooked his elbow in invitation. :Shall we? At last, we might make some progress.: He squeezed my arm as I slipped it through his.

The action made me glance up at him. Emrys seemed more enlivened than he had in some days. He caught me looking and smiled. :I had given up on ever finding a clue, let alone real evidence. It has been so long—:

He paused and I sensed someone communicating with him. A cold mask dropped over his face. :Were you a part of it?:

:A part of what?: I frowned at him. :Gorawyn’s death? No, you know I was not.:

He batted away my words. :Not that. Eidothea has left the palace.:

I shrugged. :She hasn’t seen her grandmother in a while…:

Emrys’ shoulders remained tense. :Last night, she told me she wanted to go to Maeve.:

I nodded. It made sense. :Her visit to the land has troubled her.:

Emrys shook his head, furious, his long dark hair cascading in waves over his shoulders. :I told her to give me a few days and—: He paused as further communications came in. :What? By the Lady!:

He grabbed my hand. :Come on. Lady Angharad has found a way to derail Eidothea’s ascension to the throne.:

I shook free. :You deal with that. I’ll go find Eidothea. I’ll let you know if she’s still in Caer Morgana.:

He sped off. I took a moment to look up, at Lady Angharad’s residence. Had she seen us in her dead garden? Had we somehow prompted this attack? I shook off the forebodings and hurried away, sending messages out to Eidothea, her grandmother and Llyr.

Only her grandmother replied. :She didn’t tell you she’s visiting Maeve today?:

Begging the Lady for mercy, I told Emrys.

:I’ll dispatch my guards. Angharad already seeks her. Eidothea is in more danger than we thought. I hope we are not too late.:

At our last resting stop, they came at us in a whirl of foaming bubbles. A force knocked me to one side, Llyr and Cychwr to the other.

Llyr soon recovered, rotating to face the attacking dreigiau môr. :Run! Hide!:

Hide where? We were in open waters. I screamed a thought to my grandmother, to Emrys. :Help!: Were we too far away to be heard?

I dodged one draig môr’s attack. Llyr and Cychwr counter-attacked. The water roiled with heaving scales and soon darkened with blood.

Jaws clamped down on my tail. I screamed, jack-knifing to face my attacker. I snarled and bit, scraping his face with my claws. The searing pain brought forth a fury I did not know I possessed. I had no skill in dragon warfare but I did my best, biting and scratching.

The draig môr released me, only to clamp further up my squirming body. I fought him with everything I had, knowing it would not be enough. Here is where the Chosen Court would end.

Another rush of bubbles and the draig môr was gone, leaving deep gouges in my flanks. I corkscrewed, trying to find Llyr or Cychwr. I could not see them. More dreigiau môr joined in the fray. I watched as one by one, dreigiau môr sank into the deeps.

A draig môr came for me.

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