The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

  “Then I must go on foot?” Gwyn breathed through his tightening ribcage. He lifted his head. “Due east will bring me to the path?”

  “Never stray and, should you prove as resourceful as an Ilidreth, you might make it all the way. But afoot, never.”

  “Yet I cannot bring Tia.”

  Celin nodded. “Just so.”

  “You give me little cause for hope.”

  “I mean not to. You should return home and make your brother’s passing as comfortable as possible. This is wisdom.”

  Gwyn shook his head. “No. If I don’t try, I will always see myself as a coward. I cannot live with regret, knowing I turned back at the first difficulty.” He held Celin’s gaze. “What price do you ask for the information you’ve given me?”

  The Ilidreth blinked at him, slow, deliberating. “You have but one task to perform. Upon reaching Swan Castle, you must kill someone.”

  Gwyn recoiled. “Kill?”

  “There is a creature there, once of the Ilidreth but far Fallen. His name is Kive, though he probably does not remember it. Among all the Ilidreth, he is most foul. Your strike would be a merciful one. Kill him, if you can. In exchange I shall provide a mount swifter than the fastest horse, and your journey there will take but a fortnight, provided you are not waylaid by the True Wood.” Celin lifted his hand. A rustle came from behind him. Before Gwyn could respond to the Ilidreth’s offer, his mouth fell open as into view trotted the fairest horse Gwyn had ever beheld. No, not a horse. A white deer.

  No, he realized with a jolt and a shiver. “A unicorn!”

  The fair, lithe creature glowed a white purer than the Vale itself. Its horn was of gold and silver twined into a deadly point; its hooves, golden and flecked with silver; its eyes, opalescent, filled with every color. It gazed at Gwyn with an expression not animal, nor human. Gwyn thought perhaps the unicorn held the world in its gaze and understood far more than any human ever could.

  Celin rested his slender hand on the unicorn’s head. “This is Aluem, my very good friend. He shall be your guide and your mount, for he chooses so to be. My advice remains that you should return home, but Aluem feels otherwise, and thus he undertakes to aid you. Treat him with respect, for he is no common beast.”

  Gwyn caught Celin’s gaze. “I treat all beasts with respect, but I understand that this is no beast at all.” He turned back to the unicorn and bowed his head. “I am Gwynter ren Terare.”

  Rushing wind filled Gwyn’s mind, followed by flute-like words both familiar and strange. ‘I am Aluem in your tongue, young Gwynter. I journey with you now because the Weave has called you. Shall we go?’

  The wind ceased, the world stilled, and Gwyn caught his breath. His wits returned to him. “What of Tia?”

  “I shall see her to the edge of Vinwen province,” said Celin. “Look to yourself. Your danger grows, while your mare’s has ended.”

  Gwyn nodded. “Then I just need to gather my supplies.” He turned to head back to Tia, but hesitated, and turned again to peer one last time at the Vale of Life.

  “Look well,” said Celin. “You are unlikely to see a Vale again while you yet live. Though perhaps that is not so long a wait as you would wish.”

  Gwyn removed his packs from Tia’s back and set them aside. He paused as he fingered the saddle strapped to the mare. Would he require it, or would that offend Aluem? It felt wrong to confine the unicorn at all, even in order to ride him.

  The wind rushed through Gwyn’s mind again, and Aluem’s clarion voice flowed into his thoughts. ‘There will be no need of your saddle or reins. I am not a beast of burden, and you shall not direct my steps. Hold fast to my mane and all will be well. Never has anyone fallen from the back of Aluem, unless I desired it.’

  Gwyn nodded, strapped his hunting knife and short sword to his belt, and quiver of arrows to his back. He glanced at his packs as he adjusted his bow against his shoulder. “How will we carry these?”

  ‘Take from them what you need but leave food behind. I shall provide you with sustenance. Bring nothing you cannot carry in a single pack.’

  Rummaging through his meager possessions, Gwyn chose to keep only one extra set of clothes and the medicinal herbs. He hitched the pack to his shoulder, repacked the food, and tied it to Tia’s back. On a slip of parchment, he scrawled a swift note for Mother to find: ‘I am well.’ Satisfied, he came around to rest his hand against the mare’s head. “Be brave a little longer, my friend. Celin will take you safely home and, Afallon willing, I shall return to greet you once again.”

  The mare nickered and rubbed against his face. He laughed and stroked between her eyes, patted her neck, and turned to the unicorn named Aluem.

  “I’m ready to depart.”

  ‘Very good. Climb upon my back, young Gwynter, and we shall run swifter than the wind against the treetops.’

  Tentative, Gwyn reached out to touch Aluem’s back. He started as his fingers brushed against the unicorn’s coat. It was nothing like a horse’s coarse hair at all, but soft as velvet and cold as silk. Finding purchase, Gwyn pulled himself onto Aluem and gingerly gripped the mane.

  He glanced at Tia one last time and found Celin standing beside the mare, hair black again, his lean frame draped in motley hues, one hand on Tia’s neck.

  Celin dipped his head. “May the sun shine upon your purpose as the Weave directs your course.”

  Before Gwyn could reply, Aluem bounded forward, muscles taut, and the trees became a blur. Gwyn clutched the mane with all his strength and bent forward to keep astride. The world became a swirl of colors, faraway, filled with scents too fleeting to catch.

  Cool relief surged through Gwyn’s veins as he raced due east upon Aluem. He really might have a chance to save Lawen. But he frowned as a thought invaded his mind.

  Celin had asked him to kill someone. Could Gwyn do it? He had never killed a man before, and while most would call Ilidreth animals rather than men, and though an Ilidreth himself had asked the price, Gwyn doubted it would be so easy as hunting food.

  I never agreed to the price. I never gave my word.

  But was he honor-bound just the same?

  Chapter 4

  Nothing slowed unicorn and rider through the long day’s run. When night fell, Aluem let Gwyn take his own feet within a grove of willows whose swaying reeds cast undulating shadows across the packed earth beneath a full moon.

  Gwyn circled the grove, gathering branches and twigs to build a fire, but Aluem’s voice drifted through his mind, calling him back. He returned to the unicorn’s side.

  ‘Do not make fire here. We are too near the True Wood. We do not desire to call attention to you from that fell realm.’

  Gwyn laid the wood aside. He glanced toward the clear sky beyond the willows. “It will be a cold night.”

  ‘I will keep you warm.’ Aluem trotted forward and folded his legs beneath him, first the front and then the back. ‘Lay beside me when you have eaten.’

  “What shall I eat?”

  Aluem turned his head and bowed it to point his horn at the ground. Just where moonlight trickled down from the treetops, cradled in a large magnolia leaf, lay a handful of berries and mushrooms. ‘They will satisfy your appetite for the present.’

  Gwyn knelt before the leaf and sampled a berry. Strange to see berries this time of the year, but they appeared ripe. The sweet-tart taste lingered long after he swallowed, and his parched throat felt soothed. He finished the meager meal, crawled over to Aluem, and cautiously pressed his head against the unicorn’s flank. Rather than the pungent aroma of a horse, Aluem smelled of rainfall and rich loam on a summer’s night. Warmth radiated from his body, more pleasant than a flickering flame. Gwyn nestled closer and let his eyelids droop.

  It had been a strange day. So much had happened, yet Gwyn felt at his ease, comfortable. Sleepy. Not hungry at all.

  He dreamt of Lawen. Not the feeble man lying abed, but as he’d been before. Dressed in the bright armor of the Crow King’s army, he w
ielded sword and shield. Enemy forces, both Ilidreth and human, fled before his might. But as his sword pointed ahead, blackness slithered near from behind. Dark clouds gathered overhead. Thunder rumbled, but it sounded of laughter, soft and cruel. The earth trembled.

  ‘Awaken, Gwynter.’

  He started forward. Aluem’s head turned toward him, eyes bright with color, though night still clung to the world.

  Gwyn shivered. “It’s not yet morning.”

  ‘No, but something foul stirs around us. We must move, for when I run few things can catch me.’

  Gwyn shivered again, though he didn’t feel cold. His chest tightened as an urgent fear flooded his veins. He rose and snatched up his satchel while Aluem climbed to his hooves. Gwyn caught the unicorn’s neck, swung up onto his back, and dug his fingers into Aluem’s silken mane.

  ‘Cling tightly. We are pursued.’

  He leaned forward as the unicorn leapt ahead and broke free of the copse.

  Cries erupted in the trees and the wild flutter of wings tore loose from the branches above. Gwyn glimpsed a crow winging toward him, but he whipped his head around as Aluem gained speed. The howl of wind flooded Gwyn’s ears, drowning all other sounds.

  Snatches of scent filled his nose: fresh rain, a flowering thicket, the minty green of herbs.

  Beating wings broke through the wind noise, and Gwyn glanced right to catch sight of another crow, before Aluem dodged left and danced around a wide tree. The crow disappeared.

  At such speed, Gwyn had no choice but to clutch the unicorn’s mane and stay silent. Any question he asked would be torn from his lips and lost in flight.

  By the time Aluem slowed to a trot, sunlight filtered overhead. Gwyn pried his fingers free of the mane and flexed them to bring back feeling. Still neither spoke until the sound of gurgling water welled up ahead. Aluem quickened his gait until the brook fell into view, and there he halted.

  ‘You may dismount and rest for a moment. Our pursuers are far behind.’

  Gwyn stumbled to the brook and sank into the mud, plunged his hands into the icy water, and drank from his palms. When he’d had his fill, he turned to the unicorn, who daintily drank nearby.

  “What chased us?” asked Gwyn. “I saw crows, but nothing else.”

  Aluem flicked an ear and continued to drink, but his voice filled Gwyn’s mind. ‘The crows pursued us. They are not ordinary crows but bound to the service of the Crow King.’

  Gwyn arched an eyebrow. “Impossible. The Crow King can’t control birds.”

  Aluem raised his head and turned to peer into Gwyn’s eyes. ‘How do you know this?’

  “Well, because he’s human. Like me. Humans do not possess magic. The Crow King opposes magic. That’s why he’s so determined to destroy the Ilidreth. He calls them a perversion and an evil.”

  ‘I am certain that he says such things. But many men say what they do not believe, in order to lead others astray. For greed and power and profit, what might a man not try? But, pray, young Gwynter: what am I? A perversion and an evil? And am I so because your king declares such to be truth? Was Celin’Laen an evil, though he aided you and spared your life? He must be, for the Crow King has made it so by royal decree.’

  Gwyn stiffened, his chest tingling. The Crow King was ordained by Afallon Above to lead the Simaeri. His rule was divine. Yet Gwyn had seen for himself the courtesy of an Ilidreth and the wonder of a unicorn, magic personified. Was Gwyn deceived? Was the Crow King ignorant? An Ilidreth killed my father while another helped me.

  Lawen’s vehement words against the Crow King entered Gwyn’s mind. Spoken in illness, could Gwyn believe them?

  It was too soon to say. Gwyn shook his head. “I must withhold my judgment for now and let truth reveal itself to me in due course. You say crows chase us. Whether of the Crow King or not, why do they wing after us so relentlessly?”

  ‘They are after you.’

  “Me? Why?”

  ‘You seek magic. No matter the reason, the crows are bound by command to stop you. Magic must not be awakened in Simaerin. The Crow King fears it.’

  Gwyn frowned. “But if the Crow King wields magic, as you say, why would he fear it?”

  ‘Because some men wield greater magic than their fellows. Oppressed, none can oppose the tyrant king. But should others rise with magic to rival or outmatch his, his reign might cease. This he knows.’

  Gwyn turned his eyes to the brook. “But if the Crow King has magic, why does he not rule the world? Instead he contends with the Fraeli, and they are human like me. Couldn’t he wipe his enemies from the land altogether with his magic?”

  ‘The Fraeli have allied themselves with some of the Ilidreth in the northeast — nor do they ban the use of magic in Fraelin — and so they are not without protections.’

  Gwyn nodded as he stirred the water with a finger. It made sense, but that didn’t make it true. He was loath to think ill of the Crow King, whose reign had been long and prosperous. Wasn’t he a benevolent ruler? Didn’t everyone speak his praises? Father had been a loyal liegeman, proud of his many years of service under the Crow Banner. As Lawen had always been, until now in his fevered state.

  Lawen.

  Gwyn’s heart flinched. Now wasn’t the moment to worry about such lofty matters. “I’m ready to ride again.” He stood up. “Are the crows still pursuing us?”

  ‘They will not stop until we reach Shaeswéath.’ Aluem lifted his head and allowed Gwyn to climb onto his back. Gwyn shifted his satchel and twined his fingers into the mane, a frown on his lips. Shaeswéath. Swan Castle. He had grown up with stories of the Ilidreth edifice, but it was only legend. A children’s story. If such a place existed, would it be made of glass, crushed diamonds, and mirrors, like a castle of ice that never melted? So Mother had described it many times.

  “Did the lady Shalesta truly dwell there?” asked Gwyn, though he hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ sighed Aluem. ‘And fairer maid was never wed to any Ilidreth king of old. Nor was any Ilidreth ruler so just or kind as Lord Roth, with his lady at his side. Hold tight.’

  Gwyn leaned forward and Aluem sprang ahead.

  Would Gwyn really see Swan Castle? Did it shelter the cure he sought?

  He shut his eyes and thought of Lawen. Please hold on, brother. I will return as quickly as I can.

  Aluem halted as dusk settled across the forest. Gwyn started to dismount.

  ‘Not here, young Gwynter. We must keep going. But look.’

  Gwyn raised his eyes and studied the trees ahead. These loomed older than the forest behind, stretching taller, and the world ahead looked somehow darker. He shuddered despite himself. This was no human domain. The air hung heavy and a weight pressed against Gwyn’s mind. This is an unholy place. Foul things lurked in shadow. Lidless eyes looked on, invisible, malignant. “The True Wood.”

  ‘Indeed. Here we may be waylaid by more than the king’s crows. Here even a unicorn must beware, if a human rides upon him. The True Wood may perceive you as an enemy. Once, the Lady Shalesta tamed these trees, but upon her end the True Wood grew wild, and no human is permitted. And so I must ask: Does Gwynter ren Terare choose to enter?’

  Gwyn fingered the pommel of his short sword, drew a steadying breath, and nodded. “I have no choice.”

  ‘There is always a choice.’

  “Nevertheless, I will go on.”

  Aluem nodded and started forward.

  “Wait.”

  Aluem stopped.

  “I don’t ask you to come with me.”

  ‘And that, Gwynter, is why I choose to come.’

  The unicorn trotted forward. No marker defined the border of the True Wood, but a tremor climbed Gwyn’s spine as he and his mount crossed into the ancient realm. The world hushed. The trees grew closer together. The wind held its breath.

  Within a few yards, the sound of Aluem’s hoofbeats struck what sounded like stone. Glancing down, Gwyn found an ancient road beneath them, overgrown but stil
l distinct.

  ‘We travel Serethenwé, the path of shades. In a few days we shall reach Chesevwé: in your tongue called the Crystal Way.’

  A few days. “We’re making good time, then?”

  ‘Thus far. If we are not delayed, we shall reach our destination six days hence.’

  Six days was much better time than over a fortnight. “Celin estimated it would take longer.”

  ‘Celin’Laen is a pessimist. That aside, six days will bring us to the gates of Shaeswéath only. It will be three days more before we reach the castle proper. It is a vast estate.’

  “Celin said an Ilidreth still dwells there. Why only one? Or are there more?”

  Aluem sighed. ‘There is only one. No other Ilidreth would dare to enter Shaeswéath now. It is Fallen. Twisted.’

  Gwyn frowned. “But it has a cure for Lawen?”

  ‘If cure there is, no other place could it be found. But do not hope too much, young Gwynter. Much may have changed since last I visited that once-fair realm.’

  “What happened to twist it so?” asked Gwyn. “I was raised on stories of Shalesta and Roth, but the tales ended happily. If Swan Castle does exist, and it has fallen, as you say — why?”

  ‘There is only one who knows, and he cannot now tell.’

  Chapter 5

  A crow’s sharp cry jolted Gwyn from a heavy slumber. He shot upright and stared into the gloom, heart hammering in his ears. Two days’ travel within the True Wood, the trees grew so close together and the canvas of leaves spun so thick overhead, he couldn’t determine if it was dawn or dusk, noon or true night. Aluem could always tell, but the unicorn slept now, body rising and falling in a deep rhythm.

  Gwyn climbed to his feet, careful not to rustle the undergrowth and foliage that nestled in around him. A crow had woken him, yet he thought he’d heard his name in its cry. Had it been a crow at all?