Morning's Journey by Kim Iverson Headlee Page B

but they seemed focused inward. “Listen…ah, listen to that glorious chorus…” A beatific smile spread across Father Lir’s face. His eyes glazed.
    Dafydd bowed his head to the coverlet. Katra laid a hand lightly upon his shoulder, but he didn’t have the will to look up.
    No prayers would come.
    In his mind, he saw an image of a vigorous young man: Father Lir in his youth, Dafydd had no doubt. Brilliant light flared around him as he stood arm in arm with a lovely young woman, both being greeted by two beaming children, a girl and a boy.
    A gasp of recognition lodged in Dafydd’s throat.
    The girl could be none other than his beloved Mari, which meant the boy—if this were a true vision and not some devilish trick—portrayed the glorified form of his baby son, Samsen.
    Desperately, he tried to keep sight of his precious children and the man who’d become as dear to him as his earthly father.
    The dimming vision wrung his heart.
    The new abbot of St. Padraic’s Monastery and Keeper of the Chalice heard no voices, no heavenly chorus…nothing but the sounds of his own grief. Yet for the brief, blessed vision he remained supremely thankful.

Chapter 5
     

    S EATED BEHIND THE table in his private workroom, Arthur watched Gyan as she scanned the scouting report, her brow wrinkled and lips pursed. The report was written in Latin, and he wondered if she would request his help with the translation.
    Clutching the dispatch, she strode to the wall covered by the tapestry-size map of Brydein. Burned onto deer hide, the map showed the isles of Hibernia, Mona, Maun, Vectis, and the land belonging to Dalriada and Caledonia, in addition to the larger island of Brydein. Brytons held Mona, Maun, and the western half of Brydein as far north as the Antonine Wall; Caledonians lived even farther north; Scots and Attacots divided control of Hibernia; Angles, Frisians, and Jutes occupied central and eastern Brydein; and, entrenched in the south, thanks to the long-dead Brytoni warlord Vortigern, Saxons.
    Fists on hips, Gyan gazed at the map. Finally, she turned toward Arthur. “I don’t understand.”
    “The Saxons have taken Anderida, and—”
    “Translating the dispatch wasn’t hard.” The parchment rattled as she waved it impatiently. “You would not have held my ship unless you thought this news represented a threat.” She laid the dispatch on a side table and folded her arms, smiling smugly.
    “You’re right.” He found himself missing her keen insight already. With a sigh, he rose from behind the table to join her in front of the map. “The Saxons may launch an attack on Maun.”
    Her smile deepened. “You’ve gone mad.” She jabbed a finger at the inkblot representing Dun Eidyn, in northern Angli territory, the closest enemy-held fortress to Arthur’s eastern outposts. Less than three years before, it had belonged to the Brytons. At Dun Eidyn, Arthur had lost his father, gained command of the remnant of the legion, and inherited a powerful foe in a single spear-cast. “There lies your greatest threat.”
    He couldn’t deny her assessment. The Angli occupation of Dun Eidyn and their role in Uther’s death, coupled with the maddening fact that Arthur didn’t yet possess the military might to address this problem on his own terms, pricked like a bur under the saddle. Beneath the desire to protect his fellow Brytons, swift and cold as a snow-swollen river, coursed thirst for vengeance upon that Angli bastard, King Colgrim.
    Ruthlessly, he fought off that temptation. He’d be a fool to engage the Angli without assurance of victory.
    Silently wishing circumstances could be otherwise, he said, “Colgrim has been quiet. No large troop movements, just a few border skirmishes and raids. Nothing Loth can’t handle by himself.” Not that he believed his proud brother-by-marriage would ever request his assistance, even if the Angli laid siege to Dunpeldyr itself, though for the sake of Annamar and their children,