The only person I ever loved did not love me. I was young then and foolish, I know. I wielded not a fraction of the power I now possess, or things might have gone differently. The arrow was meant for my sister.

Does that surprise you, my sweet? How so? Charis never spared a thought for me. She was already grown when I was born, and though we shared the same father, Avallach the Invalid never spoke two words to me in all the time I lived under his roof.

The beloved Briseis was dead and cold in her grave long, long before my mother shared the great king's bed. He needed Lile; and it is true he would have died but for her healing skill. Avallach used her, depended on her, but he never loved her. Even in death Queen Briseis commanded Avallach's affections, and Lile the nursemaid was merely tolerated. Poor Lile, she wanted so to be his wife, and though he married her in the end, she was never more than his mistress.

Even I, a barefoot grubby child with dirty hands and snotty nose, could see that my mother was insignificant, and in my infant heart I vowed never to allow myself to descend to insignificance.

Oh, but I would look at Charis, so beautiful and strong. The sun in its glory was not more radiant and bright. I wanted nothing more in all the world than to be like her, to be her. When I saw the way my father looked at her, the way his eyes filled with love and admiration for his golden-haired daughter, I wanted it all the more. I would have given the world and everything in it just to have Avallach smile at me the way he smiled at her.

He never did.

At first, we harboured some small hope that the drought would slacken its hold the farther north we rode. That was not to be, however, for the hills beyond the Hafren Vale were just as dusty as those we had left behind, and the streambeds were just as dry. Nor did a single cloud ever darken the sky. From dawn to dusk the heavens remained empty, the sun rising and setting in a firmament of fiery white, like a ball of flame simmering in a lake of molten iron.

I have heard of desert lands where rain falls but once a year, though I had never known Britain to suffer so for lack of rain. Searching for water to keep ourselves and the Vandal horde supplied became our sole occupation. Fortunately, there are springs in the central hills where we could refill our casks. If not for these founts deep in the earth, we might have died of thirst.

Thus, with God's help, we were able to keep moving until reaching Afon Treont. Though the bracken on the hills was brown and tinder-dry, and the Treont was showing a wide band of cracked mud and lumpy stone along either bank, there was at least good water to be had in the long lake just to the north.

There, we paused to rest for a few days. The animals could drink their fill from the shallows, but the better drinking water was farther out, beyond the green, stagnant pools; we had to use boats to get it – a labour which exhausted most of the day – and the warriors were far from pleased about the tedious occupation.

'Ferrying water casks in coracles is like herding geese on the back of a pig,' declared Cai. He and Bedwyr stood on the bare rock shore watching the small round boats struggling with their loads.

'I see it keeps your tongue wet,' observed Bedwyr sourly.

'Only just,' replied Cai. He watched the tipsy boats for a moment, then said, 'I suppose we must be moving on again soon.'

'Nay,' Bedwyr replied. 'I am thinking we will stay here.'

'But Arthur said -'

'I know what Arthur said,' declared Bedwyr edgily. 'But he could not know how hard it is to keep these people fed and watered.'

'Rheged is still some way to the north,' Cai pointed out, rubbing his whiskered chin.

'And I am thinking this is far enough!' Bedwyr growled. 'God love you, Cai, but you do know how to fret a man.'

The flame-haired Cai shouldered the affront with placid acceptance. 'I merely suggest -'

'With this damnable drought, there will be no harvest in Rheged or anywhere else,' Bedwyr explained sharply. 'Why go all the way to Rheged when they can just as easily starve here?' Indicating the dark-wooded hills beyond the lake, he said, 'At least here they can get water and whatever can be had from the forest.'

'I see your point,' replied Cai.

'You do?' asked Bedwyr suspiciously.

'It is a good plan – as good as any other.'

'Also, the settlements hereabouts are not so many that the folk will be hard pressed by the Vandali,' said Bedwyr, continuing his argument.

'Enough! I said it was a good plan. The sooner we settle these… these people, the sooner we can head south. I am anxious for word of Arthur.'

'And I am not?' demanded Bedwyr. 'You are the only one eager for word of Arthur, I suppose?'

'If it is a fight you are wanting,' Cai answered gruffly, 'go argue with Rhys – no doubt he will oblige. Two of a kind, the both of you.'

Bedwyr flared, but held his tongue. He gave Cai a dark, smouldering look and stormed away, grumbling to himself. Cai watched him stumping along the lakeshore. 'And take your temper with you!' he called at Bedwyr's retreating back.

I saw what had happened. 'Do not be angry with him,' I said, moving to Cai's side.

'Am I angry?' he shouted. 'Am I the one biting the head off anyone who happens by? Anyway, he started it – him and his foul mood.'

'The heat,' I suggested, 'is making everyone surly.'

'Och,' agreed Cai, clucking his tongue. 'By the Holy Three, I wish it would rain.' He turned a clear blue eye towards a sky just as clear and blue. 'Just look at that, would you? Not a cloud anywhere – not a single cloud all summer. It is uncanny, I tell you.' He drew a damp sleeve across his face. 'It is too hot to stand out here any longer. I am going back.'

He stalked off, leaving me to watch the labourers on the lake. The round stones all along the shore were black where the moss had been blasted by the sun – like skulls whose flesh had been burned to a dry crust. The drought was, I reflected, exposing and killing much that was green and tender. Only the tough and deep-rooted would survive. As with plants, so with people.

Upon returning to camp, I discovered several more riders preparing to leave. Bedwyr was sending word to the surrounding settlements. 'Never fear, I have saved Urien's settlement for last, brother,' he informed me. 'That one will require a man of wisdom and judgment. That is why I am sending you, Gwalchavad.'

'You are too kind.'

'As we are staying here,' Bedwyr said, 'we will let the chieftains and headmen come to us. Why not? It saves us chasing all over Britain bringing the bad news.'

'It saves some of us, perhaps.'

'Well,' said Bedwyr with a wry smile, 'a borrowed horse never tires.'

'What am I to tell them?'

'Ah, that is where your wisdom and judgment will be invaluable.'

First light the next morning, I called two of the younger warriors to accompany me on my errand; they were raw, fresh-featured youths, one named Tallaght, the other named Peredur. They were glad for a chance to quit the coracles for a day or two, and we left as soon as the horses were saddled, striking north and west, searching for the trail Bedwyr maintained we would find, and which would lead us to Urien's fortress in the south Rheged hills. As Bedwyr knew the land, I did not doubt him in the least, but it seemed to me that we rode a long way before finding anything that resembled the track he had described.

'Is this the trail, do you think?' wondered Tallaght doubtfully.

'We have seen no others,' I replied, looking at the narrow, overgrown track – little more than a beaten path through thick bracken. 'It will serve until we find another. Who knows? It may become more serviceable farther on.'