The women attended Noin, helping her wash and dress little Nia in her best clothes. They combed her hair and plaited flowers in the braids, and laid her on a bed of fresh green rushes. They washed the blood from Angharad's body and dressed her in a clean gown and brought her staff to lay beside her. Bran made a cross for the graves using arrows which he bound together with bowstring. Meanwhile, Tuck moved here and there, comforting his forest flock, giving them such solace as he possessed. He tried to instil some hope in the hearts of the grieving, and show a way to a better day ahead. But his own heart was not in it, and his words sounded hollow even to himself.

When the graves were ready, Scarlet came and, taking Noin by the hand, said, "It is time, my heart." Noin nodded silently. He knelt and gathered up his daughter and carried her to the new-dug grave; Noin walked beside him, her eyes on the bundle in her husband's arms.

Iwan and Owain bent to Angharad, but Bran said, "Wait. Bring her Bird Spirit cloak and put it on her. And her staff. We will bury her as befits the last True Bard of Britain."

Owain fetched the black-feathered cloak and helped Bran wrap it around the old woman, and the two bodies were laid to rest in the soft earth. Iwan brought Angharad's harp to place in the grave, but Bran prevented him. "No," he said, taking the harp. "This I will keep." As he cradled the harp to his shoulder, his mind flashed with the memory of one of their last partings. "All that needs saying have I said," his Wise Banfaith had told him. "Now it is for us to remember."

He held the harp, and his mind returned to the time of their first meeting-in the old woman's winter cave hidden deep in the forest. There, she had healed his body with her art, and healed his soul with her songs. "A raven you are, and a raven you shall remain-until the day you fulfil your vow," Bran murmured, remembering the words of the old story. He turned his eyes one last time to the face of his friend-a face he had once considered almost unutterably ugly: the wide, downturned mouth and jutting chin; the bulbous nose; the small, keen eyes burning out from a countenance so wrinkled it seemed to be nothing but creases, lines, and folds. Death had not improved her appearance, but Bran had long ago ceased to regard her looks, seeing instead only the bright-burning radiance of a soul alight with wisdom. "She called me a king."

"My lord?" said Iwan. "Did you say something?"

"She had never done that before, you see? Not until now."

Darkness deepened in the greenwood. The Grellon lit pitch torches at the head of each body and began a service for the dead which Tuck led, praying softly through the Psalms and the special prayers for those recently deceased. It was a service he had performed as many times as christenings and weddings combined, and he knew it by heart.

The mourners held vigil through the night. Bran, Scarlet, and Noin kept watch while others came and went silently, or with a few words of comfort and condolence. Twice in the night, Bran was heard to groan, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. The tie that had bound him and Angharad together was strong, and it had been cruelly severed, the wound deep and raw.

Then, at sunrise, the Grellon gathered at the graveside. Tuck said another prayer for the dead and for those who must resume life without them. Noin and Will wept as the dirt was replaced and heaped over the mounds. Bran pressed the small wooden crosses he had made into the graves and then knelt, solemn but dry-eyed, and said a last, silent farewell to the woman who had saved his life. Then, while the rest of the forest-dwellers prepared to abandon Cel Craidd, Tuck went to look in on Tomas. Bran joined him a little later to ask after his injured archer. "My lord," said Tuck softly, "I fear we have lost a good warrior."

"No…" sighed Bran.

"His wounds were greater than we knew," the friar explained. "I think he must have died in the night. I am sorry." He looked sadly at the still body beside him. "If my skill had been greater, I might have saved him."

"And if there had been no battle and he had not been wounded…" Bran shook his head and let the rest go unsaid. He pressed a hand to Tomas's chest and thanked the dead warrior for his good service, and released him to his rest. Then, bidding Tuck to have the body prepared for burial, he rose and went to dig another grave.

Caer Rhodl

When were you going to tell me that Friar Tuck had been here?" asked Merian, her tone deceptively sweet. "Or did you plan to tell me at all, brother mine?"

"I did not think it any of your concern," answered Garran dismissively. He leaned back in his chair and regarded his sister with suspicion. And then the thought struck him. "But how did you know they had come here?"

Merian offered Garran a superior smile. "Bran has been a visitor to these halls more often than you know. Did you really think he would leave without seeing me?"

The king of Eiwas remained unmoved. "You said you wanted to speak to me. I hope it was not merely to berate me. If so, you are wasting your breath."

"I did not come to berate you, but to tell you that there is no need to keep me locked up. I will not try to escape, or leave Caer Rhodl without your permission and blessing."

"Coming to your senses at last, dear sister?" intoned Garran. "May I ask what has brought about this change of heart?"

"I have come to see that there is no point in leaving here without you and your war band to accompany me." Garran opened his mouth to reject that possibility outright, but Merian did not give him the chance. "Bran and his people are fighting for their lives in Elfael. We must help them. We must ride at once-"

Garran held up his hand. "We have had this discussion before," he said, "and I have not changed my mind. Even if I was so inclined to raise the war band for them, the time for that is past, I fear."

"Past?" inquired Merian. "Why past?"

"King William has raised his entire army and now occupies Elfael himself. It is said he has more than a thousand knights and men-at-arms encamped in the valley."

"What of Bran and his people? Is there any word?"

"Only that they fight on-foolishly, it seems to me, since no one has come to their aid."

"Then that is all the more reason to raise the war band," Merian insisted. Clasping her hands before her, she stepped nearer her recalcitrant brother. "You must see that, Garran. We have to help them."

"Ride against King William and his army?" laughed Garran. "There is no force in all Britain that could defeat him now."

There came a knock on the door of the king's chamber, and Luc, the king's seneschal, entered. "Forgive me, Sire, but Baron Neufmarche has come and would see you most urgently. He says-"

Before the servant could finish, Baron Bernard himself pushed past him and stepped into the room. One glance at Merian brought him up short. He stared at her as if at a ghost, then collected himself. "I see I am intruding," he said. "I am sorry. I will come back in-"

"Pray, do not leave, Baron," said Garran. Merian noticed her brother's French had become quite fluent-as had her own since returning to Caer Rhodl. "Stay. This concerns you, too, I think. Merian here is urging us to raise an army and ride to the defence of Elfael. She thinks we should take arms against the king of England's forces for the sake of Bran ap Brychan and his pitiful band of rebels."

The baron raised his eyebrows, but did not condemn the notion. "Does she indeed?" he said, stepping farther into the room. "I would like to hear her reasons." He made a stiffly formal bow to the young woman. "Please, speak freely, my lady. I assure you no harm will come of it."