sword. Look, it’s engraved with two
intertwined snakes.”
The treasure! Branda stepped forward and lifted the sheath from the stone box. She studied the circular patterns inscribed on the bronze hilt. She held her breath as she slowly drew forth the
long sword. It made a scratching sound that got her attention like a drum heralding an important event.
The hilt was heavy, yet smooth and warm. Comforting. She
wrapped her fingers around the sword. Many great men had
held this blade. She was mesmerized and couldn’t tear her gaze
away, couldn’t let go.
“Let me see it.” There was a faint tremor in Brochfael’s voice.
She paused, closed her eyes, and mustered her composure so
she could let go and give it to him.
He sliced the dusty air with the long silver blade. “God’s teeth.
The old weapon has perfect balance. I have never handled its
like.”
The two guards let out a rapt sigh.
“Whose sword is it?” Leri asked with a tinge of wonder.
“Nuada’s,” Brochfael said in a rapt tone. “It’s the magic
sword of Nuada of the Silver Hand.”
“It’s magic?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the gleaming
blade.
“Yes, it’s one of the treasures of the Tuatha De Danann, the
ancient tribe of Ireland. They had great magic.” Leri parted her
lips in awe and her eyes twinkled.
lips in awe and her eyes twinkled.
“Nuada’s sword cleaved al his enemies in two.” Brochfael’s
voice held a rasp of amazement.
Chapter Nine
Branda cuddled up against her pilow as she listened to the
chirping songs of morning birds. She opened her eyes to the soft
dawn light which shone in through the ample grianan windows.
As she sat up in bed, the first thing she saw was the clay pitchers of daffodils. They’d wilted.
Languidly, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the
flowers. She touched each petal, wishing she could bring the
daffodils back to life. Yet, at the same time, she had an odd
feeling the wilted flowers were a sign Blaise would come home
today.
With a jug of daffodils in each hand she stepped outside and
tossed the dead flowers away then plopped down on the
boulder by the castle gate. As she dangled her feet and stared
down the misty hilside of Dinas Bran, she spied two men, plaid
brats wrapped around them, riding up the narrow mountainside
path. They looked like tartan tents mounted on horses. Blaise
and the messenger.
She remembered the ransom and felt shaky but shook off the
feeling of dread upon realizing she wouldn’t have to leave this
mystic place. She’d found Bran’s treasure. The god promised.
She belonged among the Cymry of Powys and, more
importantly, she belonged with Blaise.
She climbed on top of the boulder and waved to the Prince,
then waited as he rode closer to her. Once Blaise was close
enough for her to see his expression, he appeared startled as if
he’d been deep in thought and just noticed her. He frowned.
Perhaps he wasn’t pleased to see her? What could be wrong?
What happened in Mercia?
“Blaise.” She flashed a wide smile to brighten his mood. “I
have good tidings. The god Bran knows I belong at Dinas Bran.
I can stay here. I wil not have to marry Cuthred.”
“Your father has no wish to marry you to Cuthred, that much
is true.” He deepened his scowl and didn’t look her in the eye.
“Princess, I cannot speak to you now. I have dire news to
deliver to my father.”
deliver to my father.”
“What has happened?” Branda gulped.
“We wil speak of it later. What are you doing alone, outside
the fort’s gates?”
“Druid Neilyn was to keep me company, but he said it was
best he guard me in his head. He is in the temple watching over
me in his mind.”
“Neilyn! That cranky old Druid has grown too crafty to carry
out Elisedd’s commands. Watching you in his mind, indeed.”
“Blaise, pul your steed to a stop right now. Look at me.
Speak to me. Did you not hear what I said about Bran?” She
stomped her
intertwined snakes.”
The treasure! Branda stepped forward and lifted the sheath from the stone box. She studied the circular patterns inscribed on the bronze hilt. She held her breath as she slowly drew forth the
long sword. It made a scratching sound that got her attention like a drum heralding an important event.
The hilt was heavy, yet smooth and warm. Comforting. She
wrapped her fingers around the sword. Many great men had
held this blade. She was mesmerized and couldn’t tear her gaze
away, couldn’t let go.
“Let me see it.” There was a faint tremor in Brochfael’s voice.
She paused, closed her eyes, and mustered her composure so
she could let go and give it to him.
He sliced the dusty air with the long silver blade. “God’s teeth.
The old weapon has perfect balance. I have never handled its
like.”
The two guards let out a rapt sigh.
“Whose sword is it?” Leri asked with a tinge of wonder.
“Nuada’s,” Brochfael said in a rapt tone. “It’s the magic
sword of Nuada of the Silver Hand.”
“It’s magic?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the gleaming
blade.
“Yes, it’s one of the treasures of the Tuatha De Danann, the
ancient tribe of Ireland. They had great magic.” Leri parted her
lips in awe and her eyes twinkled.
lips in awe and her eyes twinkled.
“Nuada’s sword cleaved al his enemies in two.” Brochfael’s
voice held a rasp of amazement.
Chapter Nine
Branda cuddled up against her pilow as she listened to the
chirping songs of morning birds. She opened her eyes to the soft
dawn light which shone in through the ample grianan windows.
As she sat up in bed, the first thing she saw was the clay pitchers of daffodils. They’d wilted.
Languidly, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the
flowers. She touched each petal, wishing she could bring the
daffodils back to life. Yet, at the same time, she had an odd
feeling the wilted flowers were a sign Blaise would come home
today.
With a jug of daffodils in each hand she stepped outside and
tossed the dead flowers away then plopped down on the
boulder by the castle gate. As she dangled her feet and stared
down the misty hilside of Dinas Bran, she spied two men, plaid
brats wrapped around them, riding up the narrow mountainside
path. They looked like tartan tents mounted on horses. Blaise
and the messenger.
She remembered the ransom and felt shaky but shook off the
feeling of dread upon realizing she wouldn’t have to leave this
mystic place. She’d found Bran’s treasure. The god promised.
She belonged among the Cymry of Powys and, more
importantly, she belonged with Blaise.
She climbed on top of the boulder and waved to the Prince,
then waited as he rode closer to her. Once Blaise was close
enough for her to see his expression, he appeared startled as if
he’d been deep in thought and just noticed her. He frowned.
Perhaps he wasn’t pleased to see her? What could be wrong?
What happened in Mercia?
“Blaise.” She flashed a wide smile to brighten his mood. “I
have good tidings. The god Bran knows I belong at Dinas Bran.
I can stay here. I wil not have to marry Cuthred.”
“Your father has no wish to marry you to Cuthred, that much
is true.” He deepened his scowl and didn’t look her in the eye.
“Princess, I cannot speak to you now. I have dire news to
deliver to my father.”
deliver to my father.”
“What has happened?” Branda gulped.
“We wil speak of it later. What are you doing alone, outside
the fort’s gates?”
“Druid Neilyn was to keep me company, but he said it was
best he guard me in his head. He is in the temple watching over
me in his mind.”
“Neilyn! That cranky old Druid has grown too crafty to carry
out Elisedd’s commands. Watching you in his mind, indeed.”
“Blaise, pul your steed to a stop right now. Look at me.
Speak to me. Did you not hear what I said about Bran?” She
stomped her
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