Free Cry of Sorrow by Holly Taylor

were warriors who had come after, led to this place by Rhoram’s people. Gwen saw the men and women of Hywel’s band, from Penfro, and from Lluched’s teulu of Creuddyn. The warriors from the bands of Anhuniog and Pennardd were absent, sent to the east and south on raiding parties.
    The band of Cerddorian here in Ogaf Greu, commanded by her father, was the largest but not the only band in Prydyn. Far to the southwest in the forest of Coed Gwyn lurked another group of fighters, led by Achren’s sister, Marared, the Lady of Brycheniog, and Dadweir Heavy-Hand, Lord of Bychan. Dadweir, the father of Sabrina, the former Druid to King Urien, was very difficult to get along with. But Achren said that Marared had her ways, and Dadweir did what King Rhoram wished him to do.
    They reached a small cave branching off from the main cavern. Achren lifted the curtain that served as a door and strode in, with Gwen following and Aidan behind. People sat in a ring on the floor of the cave, but Gwen had eyes only for her father.
    Torchlight illuminated Rhoram’s golden hair and blue eyes, playing off the emerald ring he wore and the hard angles of his taut face. It had taken him many months to recover from the physical wound the traitor, Erfin, had given him during that final battle. Even now, two years later, those lines of pain were still chiseled into his oncesmooth face. The other wounds—the wounds he had suffered because Erfin was his brother-in-law, because he thought he had failed his people, because he had survived that last battle—were still raw. Perhaps, Gwen thought, they always would be.
    Gwen took her place in the heavy silence, sitting on the rock floor to the left of her father. As she crossed the circle, her halfbrother, Geriant, sitting at Rhoram’s right, gave her a smile. Geriant was always kind to her, even when she didn’t deserve it.
    Dafydd Penfro, Rhoram’s chief counselor, sat on Gwen’s left. His dark eyes, taking in Gwen’s torn skirt and slight limp, were quietly amused and not surprised. Next to Dafydd, his brother, Hywel, Gwarda of Penfro, sat stolidly, waiting for his orders. Cian, Rhoram’s Bard, sat on Hywel’s left. His green eyes were distracted, and he seemed restless. Clearly he had news from the Master Bard he was eager to share.
    Aidan had taken his place on Cian’s left, with Achren next to him. On Achren’s other side sat Cadell, Rhoram’s Dewin. Cadell’s face showed his habitual worried frown as he nervously plucked at the ragged sleeves of his undertunic. Next to Cadell, his sister, Lluched, Gwarda of Creuddyn, sat, quietly fingering her dagger. Her dark hair was woven into a cluster of tiny braids, secured with small bands of brass, and her almond-shaped dark eyes flickered to Aidan, who returned her glance with a smile.
    There was a heavy silence, until Rhoram took something from his tunic, and flipped it across the circle to Aidan. The torchlight flickered off the gold bracelet as it arced through the air. Aidan caught it, one-handed. “It seems, Aidan, that you have won,” Rhoram said coolly.
    The bracelet soared across the circle again, this time thrown by Aidan into the hands of Lluched. She, too, caught it one-handed, not even dropping her dagger. “It seems, my King, that is it Lluched who has won,” Aidan said smoothly.
    “You two had a bet? What was it?” Geriant asked curiously.
    “A private matter, Prince Geriant,” Lluched said gravely, sliding the bracelet up her slender arm. “And bracelets, Aidan, won’t buy as much as you think.”
    Aidan grinned. “A man can dream, can’t he?”
    At the mention of dreams, Gwen’s own smile faded, and Achren cast her a quick glance. Rhoram, so very quick, caught the brief look and turned to Gwen, his blue eyes grave, waiting.
    But before Gwen could speak, Achren said quickly, “Well, Rhoram, let’s begin.”
    Rhoram looked over at his Captain, and what he saw in her dark eyes forestalled the comment he had been about