The Golden Cage by J.D. Oswald

medication, back at home with his mother watching over him to make sure he made no mistakes. Would she be proud of him now? Would she praise him for what he was doing? He hoped so.
    The preparation took almost half an hour, during which time Benfro examined the damage done to Errol’s ankles. He had never studied the anatomy of men, but it was fairly easy to see that the damage had been healing badly. Not set properly, the bones would likely have fused into one unyielding mass, making walking extremely difficult and painful. In some ways the boy had done himself a favour by breaking them again.
    It wasn’t going to be easy to set them right though; he might not even be able to do it at all. Errol’s ankles were much smaller and more complicated than Ynys Môn’s shoulder, and he had only watched his mother heal that. But it was a task that would require his full attention, that would take his mind off sleep and the endless weariness that pulled at him.
    Steeling himself to the task, Benfro let his perceptions
shift until he could see Errol’s aura, stretched thin over him like a second skin. Only those ruined ankles glowed with any colour, and that was a livid shifting mass of purples and reds. Settling down in the best position he could manage for both comfort and light from the fire, he extended one talon and set to work.

6
    And the Shepherd called forth his followers, bidding them come to him at his most marvellous palace. They gathered together, Grendor and Malco, Wise Earith and Balwen the Brave. Though they had travelled to the far corners of Gwlad, spreading his good words, still they heeded his call and returned.
    Each one in turn attended him, curious as to why he had summoned them. But none was so bold as to question him. And to each one he gave a gift of power, of understanding and wisdom. Grendor received the knowledge of all the languages of men, Malco the strength of the mountain bears he so resembled. To Earith the Shepherd gave the power of healing, so that any she touched would be cured of all illness.
    Then came Balwen, last into the hall. And when he knelt before his master, the Shepherd rose from his throne and went down to meet him.
    ‘A great war is coming,’ the Shepherd said, ‘and I must leave Gwlad to fight the Wolf in his lair. But do not despair, my loyal servants, for I shall return. Until then I have touched you each with some measure of my power. Use it wisely, for only thus can you guard my throne.’
    And
he laid his hand on Balwen’s head. And with that touch, Balwen the Brave was filled with the power of Gwlad such as no man had ever known.
    The Book of the Shepherd
    Melyn pushed through the doors into the royal chambers, ignoring the startled looks of the ladies-in-waiting who hovered around the queen like so many flies around a corpse.
    ‘Your Majesty, once again you look ridiculous. Must you insist on wearing these outrageous costumes?’
    Beulah laughed without any mirth. ‘You know as well as I do that I hate this pomp and show, Melyn. I hate it as much as you do. But it’s what the people expect.’
    ‘True,’ Melyn conceded. ‘Padraig may be an insufferable bore, but he knows how to manipulate public feeling. The whole city celebrates today.’
    ‘That’s because they don’t have to go to work.’
    ‘Well, that could have something to do with it, I suppose. But they’re feeling well disposed towards the royal house too. The people seem to approve of Clun.’
    ‘I didn’t choose him for his public appeal, Melyn. He has other qualities.’
    ‘I’m sure he does, but now is perhaps not the time to discuss them. You’re due to be married in about twenty minutes.’
    ‘Is it that late already?’ Beulah looked over at the window as if trying to gauge the time by the light filtering in. The sky was overcast, a grey pallor marring an otherwise
fine warm spring day. It had rained earlier, washing down the yellow sandstone walls of the citadel and making everything