The Last Light of the Sun by Guy Gavriel Kay

named him, here in the west. He’d spent his youth battling the raiders from overseas with his cousin Amren, now ruling in Arberth, of whom there were stories too. With them in those days had been Dai and Alun’s own father and uncle—and this man, Ceinion of Llywerth. The generation that had beaten back Siggur Volganson—the Volgan—and his longships. And Brynn was the one who’d killed him.
    Alun drew a steadying breath. Their father, who liked to hold forth with a flask at his elbow, had told tales of all of these men. Had fought with—and then sometimes against—them. He and Dai and their friends were, Alunthought, as they walked down and out of the wood behind the anointed high cleric of the Cyngael, in waters far over their heads. Brynnfell. This was Brynnfell below them.
    They had been about to attack it. With eleven men.
    “This is his stronghold?” he heard Dai asking. “I thought—”
    “Edrys was? His castle? It is, of course, north-east by Rheden and the Wall. And there are other farms. This is the largest one. He’s here now, as it happens.”
    “What? Here? Himself? Brynn?”
    Alun worked to breathe normally. Dai sounded stunned. His brother, who was always so composed. This, too, could almost be funny, Alun thought. Almost.
    Ceinion of Llywerth was nodding his head, still leading the way downwards. “He’s here to receive me, actually. Good of him, I must say. I sent word that I would be passing through.” He glanced back. “How many men do you have? I saw you two climbing, but not the others.”
    The cleric’s tone was precise, suddenly. Dai answered him.
    “And how many were taken?”
    “Just the one,” Dai said. Alun kept quiet. Younger brother.
    “His name is Gryffeth? That’s Ludh’s son?”
    Dai nodded.
    He’d simply overheard them, Alun told himself. This wasn’t Jad’s gift of sight, or anything frightening.
    “Very well,” said the cleric crisply, turning to them as they came out of the trees and onto the path. “I’d account it a waste to have good men killed today. I will do penance for a deception in the name of Jad’s peace. Hear me. You and your fellows joined me by arrangement at a ford of the Llyfarch River three days ago. You are escorting me north as a courtesy, and so that you might visit Amren’s court atBeda and offer prayers with him in his new-built sanctuary during this time of truce. Do you understand all that?”
    They nodded, two heads bobbing up and down.
    “Tell me, is your cousin Gryffeth ap Ludh a clever man?”
    “No,” said Dai, truthfully.
    The cleric made a face. “What will he have told them?”
    “I have no idea,” Dai said.
    “Nothing,” Alun said. “He isn’t quick, but he can keep silent.”
    The cleric shook his head. “But why would he keep silent when all he had to say was that he was riding in advance to tell them I had arrived?”
    Dai thought a moment, then he grinned. “If the Arberthi took him harshly, he’ll have been quiet just to embarrass them when you do show up, my lord.”
    The cleric thought it through, then smiled back. “Owyn’s sons would be clever,” he murmured. He seemed pleased. “One of you will explain this to Ludh’s boy when we are inside. Where are your other men?”
    “South of here, hidden off the road,” Dai said. “And yours, my lord?”
    “Have none,” said the high cleric of the Cyngael. “Or I didn’t until now. You are my men, remember.”
    “You rode alone from Llywerth?”
    “Walked. But yes, alone. Some things to think about, and there’s a truce in the land, after all.”
    “With outlaws in half the forests.”
    “Outlaws who know a cleric has nothing worth the taking. I’ve said the dawn prayers with many of them.” He started walking.
    Dai blinked again, and followed.
    Alun wasn’t sure how he felt. Curiously elated, in part. For one thing, this was the figure of whom so many stories were told, some of them by his father and uncle, thoughhe knew there had been a