A deep flush of shame stained Pwyll's face at the lord of Gwent's sharp words. "Ahhh, Rhiannon!" he said, speaking her name aloud for the first time in four years.

Rhiannon raised her violet eyes to him, piercing him with a look of such aching sadness that the prince cried out aloud as if in pain; but she spoke no word to him.

Teirnyon picked up his tale once more. "I knew of this creature that Taran and Evan sought, but I did not know what it was or where to find it. You see, my lord, I have a particularly fine mare among my herds that I love right well. For many years she foaled regularly, but there was a period of several years in which her newborn foals always disappeared under mysterious circumstances almost immediately after their births. Four years ago I determined that I should not lose the colt that my mare was about to drop, and so when she went into her labor, I brought her into my castle at Gwent for safety's sake.

"The foal was born and he was a beautiful one. As I stood admiring it, the windows in the room flew open and a huge clawed hand reached through and sought to take the newborn colt from its mother. I took my broadsword and hacked at that damned arm with its greedy, clawed hand! From outside, a terrible howl like a rushing, mighty wind arose. I dashed out into the darkened courtyard to do battle with whatever it was that was stealing my horses. I could see nothing in all the blackness, for there was no moon that night. Then suddenly I felt something being dropped at my feet and all was silent.

"I reached down and lifted the bundle up. Imagine my surprise when I found that the swaddling contained a healthy, newborn infant boy. I brought the child to my dear wife, Elaine, who is childless. We decided to call him Cant, meaning bright, for the hair on his head was shining and golden. We did not question our good fortune in obtaining a son to love and raise after all our years of childlessness. We even considered the possibility the creature left us the infant in exchange for the colt. We had absolutely no idea where the baby came from until Taran of the Hundred Battles and Evan ap Rhys arrived in Gwent some weeks ago with their tragic tale of Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, and Pwyll of Dyfed and the baby lost to them."

Teirnyon then looked down at the small boy by his side. "Show the lady Rhiannon the cloth you came wrapped in, Cant."

All eyes turned to the sturdy child with the hair of golden hue as he stepped forward and handed Rhiannon a length of green and silver brocade. Her tear-filled eyes devoured him eagerly, and the boy looked back at her with identical eyes. Her hands shaking, she took the fabric, though she did not really need to examine it. She had recognized it immediately. It was her own fine work, created upon her high loom during the months in which she carried her child. Her infant son had been wrapped in it the night he had been born. The night he had been stolen away from her.

Rhiannon fell slowly to her knees, sobbing. "I called you Anwyl," she said. "Anwyl, my beloved son!" And Rhiannon hugged the little boy who slipped so easily into her embrace and kissed her lovingly upon her wet cheeks.

Teirnyon bent and took the fallen brocade up once more. Handing it to Pwyll, he asked, "Do you recognize it, my lord? Is this indeed the cloth in which your son was wrapped on the night he disappeared?"

Pwyll took the cloth, fingering it with wonder. He nodded mutely, unable to believe his sudden good fortune. By some marvelous miracle his only son and heir had just been restored to him. "How can I thank you?" he asked the lord of Gwent thickly, his voice sticking in his throat.

"You cannot," Teirnyon told him bluntly. "By returning your son to you, I lose mine and I break my dear wife's heart. She has loved Cant and raised him with tenderness since the night he came to us. How can I compensate her for such a loss? There is no way, my lord. Elaine and I, however, learning the truth of our son's birth and seeing the stamp of both Dyfed and the Fair Folk upon his brow, could not in honor keep him from you, nor allow his sweet mother's name to be further besmirched."

"I indeed owe you a great debt of gratitude, Teirnyon, and my friends Taran of the Hundred Battles and Evan ap Rhys as well. Where are they?"

"We are here, my lord," came Taran's voice as he and Evan stepped forward from among the clustering crowd of courtiers.

"Whatever you want," Pwyll told them. "It is yours for what you have done for me and for Dyfed!"

"We did not do it for you, or for Dyfed, my lord," Evan ap Rhys said harshly. "We did it for the lady Rhiannon whom we love and honor."

Rhiannon now stood, lifting her son up into her arms as she did so. Seeing them together thusly left no doubt among those in the hall that they were mother and son. "Thank you, my friends," she told them quietly, and then she said, "Will you go with my son back to Gwent, Taran of the Hundred Battles and Evan ap Rhys? Will you teach him of his heritage and guard him until he comes of his manhood?"

"We will, lady, and right gladly," the two warriors chorused in unison.

Rhiannon then looked to Teirnyon and Elaine. "There is no need for you to lose your son, our son, Anwyl whom you call Cant. It is the custom among the Cymri, is it not, to foster out a prince's children? It is also a mother's right among the Cymri to choose the place for her child's fostering. My son now knows the truth of his birth. Taran and Evan will teach him all he needs to know of Dyfed. I return him to Gwent with you both until he is a man. You, Teirnyon, teach my son all he needs to know about ruling that he may one day rule in Dyfed with honor, having learned honor from an honorable man." Her meaning was brutally clear.

Both Teirnyon and Elaine were overjoyed, but they were curious as well. The lady of Gwent spoke softly to Rhiannon. "Having found your son, you would let him go again, oh princess?"

Rhiannon nodded. "Anwyl has never known any other parents but you two. I want my child to be happy, and I tell you that having lived six years among the suspicion and intolerance of this court, I know for certain that Anywl's happiness, and indeed his very safety, are not to be found here in Dyfed. Here I will have no control over my son's fate. They would take him from me and seek to erase from his memory that half-heritage which comes to him through me. You surely knew by the very look of him that he was not entirely of the Cymri race, and yet you have both loved him without reservation."

It was then the child spoke. His little voice was high and piping. "I have but only found you, my other mother. I do not wish to lose you again."

"You will not lose me, Anwyl, my fair son. I will come to see you often in Gwent. Perhaps your father will come too one day."

"Then I will return to Gwent as you wish," the little boy said sweetly, and kissed her cheek again.

Outside Pwyll's castle thunder rumbled with an approaching storm. Lightning flashed beyond the windows of the Great Hall.

Pwyll arose from his place at the high board and looked directly at Rhiannon. "Rhiannon," he said, "will you return to me?"

Before she might answer, however, Bronwyn of the White Breast leapt to her feet as if she had been stung. Grasping at Pwyll's arm with talonlike fingers, she cried out, "No! You cannot do this to me, my lord! Send her away! She has only caused you misery, this woman of the Fair Folk. How can you really be certain that this boy is your son? This is some sort of enchantment of the Fair Folk against us! Surely you must see that!"

Pwyll shook Bronwyn's hand off. "Leave me be!" he told her angrily. "Your shrewish babbling confuses me."

"Leave you be?" she shrieked, her face pinched in her anger. "Leave you be? What is this you say to me, Pwyll? What of last night? What of the many nights before that when we lay together, two lovers? What of the promise you made to me this very day that you would at last divorce this creature and put her aside that you might finally wed with me? Dyfed needs an heir! A legitimate Cymri heir!" Bronwyn was flushed and almost ugly in her fury at being thwarted.

For a brief moment the old Pwyll reappeared from the shell of the man that now existed. "Dyfed has an heir, lady," he said strongly. "He is before us now!" His hand shot out and, grasping Bronwyn of the White Breast by her thick brown braids, he forcibly directed her head in the direction of Rhiannon and the child she still held within the shelter of her arms. "Look upon my son, Bronwyn! He may have his mother's fair coloring, but his face is mine. His face is Dyfed's! I have no doubts!" Pwyll's gaze swung toward his council and his court. "Are there any among you who have doubts as to the paternity of this boy?" he demanded fiercely.

"What of you, Cynbel?" Pwyll growled threateningly.

"The child is Prince Anwyl without question, my good lord," Cynbel of Teifi said silkily. "Dyfed's heir has most assuredly been restored to us, but I question the wisdom of allowing him to return to Gwent."

"Why is that, my lord Cynbel?" Rhiannon asked coldly. "Do you feel perhaps that my son would be safest in your gentle daughter's tender care, as opposed to the care given him by Elaine and Teirnyon?" There were snickers from those gathered, and sly looks were directed at Bronwyn as Rhiannon continued. "Your daughter may have Pwyll of Dyfed to husband if that is what they both choose, but she will never have care of my child. He returns to Gwent!"

"Where," Teirnyon told them all, "he will be zealously guarded and kept safe from all harm until the day comes that he inherits Dyfed from his father." The lord of Gwent smiled toothily at Cynbel and his daughter.