The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

  On impulse, Nathaera fell to her knees, caught his wasted hand, turned it palm up, and pressed the glowing gem against his parchment-skin. She leaned forward, lips nearly touching the gem. “You chose Gwyn, didn’t you? You know what he sought. Please, save his brother’s life.”

  The light from the gem flickered and died. Then it flashed, blindingly bright. Nathaera threw her hands before her eyes. Warmth washed over her as the room hummed a high note, long and hopeful.

  All fell silent and dark.

  She heard deep breathing from the bed. Slowly she lowered her hands and found the room darker than before. Nathaera climbed to her feet and rounded the bed to approach the window. A cloud of dust swirled into the air as she yanked the heavy drapery aside and drowned the room in sunlight.

  Turning, she found Lawen sitting upright, a hand pressed against his eyes. “Too bright.”

  Nathaera caught the curtain again and pulled it mostly closed, leaving a gap wide enough to illuminate the foot of Lawen’s bed. She caught up her dress skirt and hurried back to the bed. Glancing toward the door, she found Lady Mair and Windsur both standing at the threshold, gaping and silent.

  Nathaera turned back to Lawen. “How do you feel?”

  He lowered his hand gingerly, eyes mere slits against the gloom. “I feel like a whole new man. What happened? Who are you?”

  “I’m Nathaera ren Lotelon.” She curtsied. “I’ve come on Gwynter’s behalf. He found a way to heal you. You’re going to live.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Heal me? What—? Where is Gwynny?” He searched the room.

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s in the woods. Far from here. He sent us on ahead to bring the instrument of your healing. You’re holding it now.”

  Lawen uncurled his hand to reveal the blue stone. It shone dimly in the dismal light.

  “Isn’t it lovely? He brought it from Swan Castle.”

  Lawen’s eyes widened further. Then his gaze slid past Nathaera. “Lady Mother?”

  Mair slipped into the room. “You’ve been sick for a long time, Lawen. Gwyn disappeared several weeks ago, leaving a note to say he’d gone for help. I knew nothing more until this young woman arrived. But it seems Gwynter did find a way to heal you. You look yourself again, yet only yestereve Doctor Hesegg said you might last only a day or two more.”

  Nathaera let out a breath. “Then Gwyn was right to send us ahead. He feared it might be too late already.”

  Mair met her eyes. “Had Lawen been anyone else, it would be so. But his bond with Gwynter is such that I think he held on long enough to say goodbye.”

  Lawen’s gaze darted between the two women. “Gwyn is alone in the Ilidreth woods? Someone must go find him.” He started to push his coverlet aside. “I should—”

  “You should stay where you are,” said Mair in a sharp tone. “Gwynter didn’t risk his life so that you could run impulsively into the woods after him, catch a cold, and die on the very heels of gaining your health. Besides, this isn’t a simple matter we might easily lay to rest. How do we explain your sudden recovery to Doctor Hesegg, or to anyone at all? If the truth of Gwynter’s use of magic gets out, we all risk burning at the stake. No, Lawen, you will remain abed for several days more, and we shall do all we can to make it appear that you’re slowly gaining strength, by Afallon’s blessing.”

  “But Gwyn is out there.” Lawen swung one leg off the bed. Nathaera flushed. It was bare. Realizing the same, Lawen threw his coverlets back over his leg. His hands clutched his sweat-soaked tunic. “I need clothes.”

  “You shan’t have them,” answered Mair. “You’ll stay here and wait with the rest of us. Even should we send an army into those woods, we’d have little chance of finding Gwyn. He, at least, knows where to find us. Lie still, rest, and pray to Afallon that Gwynter’s resourcefulness is enough to bring him home. That foolish, headstrong boy!”

  Her outburst startled Nathaera, for Lady Mair had remained composed until now. But then, Gwyn was her child, her treasure, now utterly alone in a wood full of fallen Ilidreth and, possibly, Fraeli enemies.

  Chapter 14

  Hand pressed hard against Kive’s mouth, Gwyn balanced on the thick branch of an oak tree and waited for the Fraeli scout to pass. Perspiration trickled down his neck. Too close. This one had come much too close. Not surprising, for they knew he was out here, just as he knew about them.

  After all, he’d spent the past three days slowing them down.

  Kive had come in handy. His drawling tones could lure wildlife with a few silken phrases, and Gwyn had encouraged him to call for a fleet of rats to descend upon the Fraeli encampment as dusk settled in. A delighted Kive began to devour every rat he could snatch, while Gwyn stole through the chaos and cut the cords to at least two dozen horses. That’s when they’d seen him — but catching him had been another matter.

  It was clear from the Fraelis’ chosen direction and accoutrements that their destination was Crowell, capital city of Simaerin; and certainly not to attend a festival. Whatever this new provocation, whatever the Crow King’s part in it, Gwyn couldn’t let Fraeli forces stamp their way through Simaerin and kill innocents. At the least, he must see that their efforts were severely hampered.

  Wings fluttered close by. Gwyn glanced toward the sound as a crow landed on a branch of the oak tree. Gwyn eyed the crow. It returned his stare, tilting its head to one side. Gwyn’s heart started to pound and sweat pricked his brow. It was just a normal crow. Please let it be a normal crow.

  The crow opened its beak and let out a harsh caw.

  The scout on horseback halted a few yards from the oak and lifted his helmed head. His absent smile faded as his eyes met Gwyn’s. Gwyn released Kive even as the scout drew his bowstring and unleashed his arrow. Gwyn couldn’t dodge in time — but the arrow shot past the tree and thunked against another trunk.

  The scout blinked, then nocked a second arrow with fleet fingers. Gwyn dropped from the tree and sprinted into the dense foliage. The second arrow shrieked past his head and landed in a thicket. The scout let out a curse.

  Kive ran beside him. “Should I eat the other rat? He looks so juicy. Those big red eyes!”

  “He’s not a rat, Kive,” Gwyn said, dodging right. Kive kept an easy gait beside him. “He’s human. I’m human. We’re too big to be rats. We’re human, and you’re Ilidreth.”

  “No, just Kive.”

  Gwyn weaved left and dropped into a shallow gorge he’d found earlier for just such a situation. He rolled beneath a slight overhang to hide in the long reeds and thistles, ignoring the pinprick pain of a million tiny barbs in his arms and legs. He drew shallow breaths and strained to hear any sound from above, over the thudding of his heart.

  Kive nestled beside him, content to remain still. Listening. His red eyes locked onto Gwyn’s grey gaze and he rested a finger to his lips. “Shhh, little rat. The other rat is cooomming.”

  As though an invisible hand clamped to his mouth, Gwyn was seized, unable to speak. Kive’s command laced magic bonds around his soul. Gwyn reached out and rested his hand against Kive’s lips, placing his free fingers to his own. Kive continued to stare at him, so still, unblinking, perhaps not breathing.

  Soon Gwyn heard the crunch of feet against twigs and leaf mold above, but the sound faded before it ever came near.

  The two waited for thirty minutes or longer. Gwyn’s muscles ached and his flesh raced with chills by the time he allowed himself to roll from the niche and unfold his limbs. Kive followed with no evidence of discomfort. Gwyn massaged his jaw, relieved that the invisible hand had departed.

  “Kive, we’ve done what we can to slow the army down on our own. But you’ve a gift we might make better use of than calling rats. Shall we test the limits of your strange magic?”

  Kive licked his lips. “Calling rats is my favorite.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that.” Gwyn pointed toward the sliver of sky peering down between the close-knit trees. “Have you ever calle
d down rain?”

  Kive glanced up. “Rain? No. Kive doesn’t eat rain.” He scowled.

  Gwyn gently took Kive’s shoulders. “Try, Kive. The army of rats is coming to destroy my home. We must slow it down and get far ahead in order to warn my people.”

  “Rats like the rain,” said Kive matter-of-factly.

  “Not an army of them. Enough water will drown rats.”

  Kive’s lips lifted in a grimace. “Drowned rats aren’t tasty. Only alive, juicy, with big fat eyes. And the tails. Mmmmm.”

  Gwyn swallowed bile. “Please, Kive. Please don’t.”

  Kive canted his head, reached out, and very delicately patted Gwyn’s hair. “Nice rat. Not so vicious as other rats. Nice rat. I won’t eat you for now. Nice, quiet rat.”

  Gwyn managed a limp smile. “Thank you, Kive. It’s fair that we both try not to hurt each other for now.” He began to climb up the gorge.

  “Not yet,” said Kive. “Not until the shiny rock says so.”

  Gwyn paused and glanced down at Kive. “Will the shiny rock say so?”

  Kive shrugged. “Kive doesn’t know. Kive is Kive. Shiny rock is shiny rock.”

  “Yes, and Gwyn is Gwyn. Not a rat.” He started to climb again, slipping twice against the slick surface and clumps of grass that tore loose as he gripped them. At the top he sat and waited for Kive to lightly follow, unencumbered by such minor inconveniences as muddy slopes.

  Kive mimicked Gwyn in brushing himself off and smoothing his ragged clothes. He whipped aside a tangle of matted hair as he glanced in the direction of the Fraeli army. “Does Kive call the rain now?”

  “Not yet. Wait until we can almost see them. I might need to commandeer a horse, and I’ll want to locate one before the torrent is too strong.” That was assuming, of course, that Kive could summon rain, and a lot of it. “We should test it.” He looked overhead. “See that cloud, Kive?” He pointed.

  Kive glanced up with disinterest. “Yes, Rat. I see the cloud.”

  “It kind of looks like a rat,” said Gwyn, cocking his head. “Doesn’t it?” He saw no such shape, but it was worth a try.

  Kive’s attention fixed on the cloud. “Ooo, a rat-cloud!”

  “Tell it to come nearer, just a little, so we can be sure.” Please, Blessed Afallon, let this work.

  Kive raised his hands. “Come, rat-cloud. Coooome!”

  Gwyn willed the cloud closer until his head began to ache. The cloud moved perceptively nearer in the sky, no longer lethargic. Gwyn blinked. It might truly work.

  “Ask the rat-cloud to find its brothers, the ones who drink water, and tell it to bring them here.”

  Kive nodded and relayed the command in his singsong drawl as the cloud retreated. Gwyn felt a little uneasy altering Afallon’s weather patterns, but he must do all he could to save Simaerin.

  The torrent Kive summoned proved a double-edged sword, but Gwyn had anticipated that. He was a party of two on horseback, fleeing the raging storm, while the army could only hunker down and wait for the sun to return.

  Gwyn had easily freed a single horse as blinding rain hammered the forest and tore buds and leaves from the trees. It took some coaxing to make Kive mount the gelding, but at last the threat of losing Gwyn and his shiny rock had been more than Kive could bear. He slipped onto the horse’s back and clung desperately to Gwyn.

  Only after they’d ridden in dreadful conditions for several hours did the sun chase away Kive’s so-called rat-storm. Gwyn slowed the horse’s pace and mopped his sopping brow.

  “This is a strange rat,” Kive murmured, patting the brown gelding’s flank.

  “It’s not a rat, Kive. It’s called a horse.”

  “I’ve never heard of a horse.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  Kive fell silent for a time. “Once there were horses. Looong ago. Clip-clop. Clip-clop.”

  Gwyn smiled. “Can’t you hear the horse’s hooves now? Clip-clop.”

  Kive leaned to one side, pointed ear tilted to the ground. “Oh, it does! It does clip-clop! Ooo, a horse. I thought all the horses were gone. Clip-clop, Rat. Listen!”

  “I’m not a rat, Kive. This is a horse, and I’m Gwyn.”

  “Clip-clop!” cried Kive.

  Gwyn shook his head and guided the horse through a thick copse of trees. “I wonder if Nathaera reached Vinwen all right. Aluem must be near my home by now, if they’ve not already arrived.” He mopped his brow again and shivered. His chest ached and he cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lawen is better now. Perhaps when I arrive, he’ll be standing in the doorway of the house, arms open to receive me.” His throat itched. Gwyn coughed into his hand. “It seems I’ve caught a cold.”

  “You can’t catch the cold,” said Kive. “Only rats. Or birds. Or flies. Juicy little flies, buzzing, buzzing.”

  Gwyn smiled despite himself. “Humans catch cold. Especially when they don’t sleep or eat well, and then ride through rain for hours.” He wiped his face with his dripping sleeve. “Foolish, really. I don’t have time to be ill. I need to get back to Vinwen. I need to see Lawen…to know…”

  Kive patted the horse’s flank. “Clip-clop. Clop-clip.”

  Gwyn’s vision swam. His limbs grew heavy, then he was toppling from the horse, stomach fluttering. He expected to hit the ground hard, but something snatched his arm.

  “Rat is falling,” Kive said from far away.

  Gwyn’s eyes shut. The world was dropping, tumbling away. His mind spun into a dark place deeper than the True Wood. Deeper than the pit where he’d fallen so long ago. Deeper than the black of a crow’s wings.

  Chapter 15

  The embers of a dying fire danced before his vision. The world hovered dark and silent, but for the pop and hiss of glowing logs. A blanket covered Gwyn, a bit damp, but warm. He tried to raise his head but found himself too weak. He lay still and wondered instead why he rested beside a fire he hadn’t built, covered by a blanket that wasn’t his.

  “Your eyes ask many questions,” said a male voice with a weighty accent. A Fraeli accent.

  Gwyn stiffened and tried again to move, but his body refused.

  “Relax. I will not harm a sick man.”

  Gwyn drew a breath to ask a question, but his lungs caught fire, and he broke into a ragged cough.

  “You have been many days ill,” said the Fraeli voice. “Lucky I came upon you, or you would long be dead. Your fever was fierce.”

  Gwyn closed his eyes and fought against another cough. His body throbbed and his mind pressed against his skull. “Who…?”

  “I am the scout you managed so well to evade. But I had to find you. None before have dodged my arrows as you did. None in many years. That is thanks to my Ilidreth blood.”

  Gwyn’s brow knitted together. “But your accent.”

  “I am half Fraeli and half Ilidreth. A cruel fate for most, but I have managed to hide my roots. You are the first to know in long years. I tell you because it is important that you know. I saw you in that tree, Gwynter ren Terare. I saw you, now, and long from now.”

  “I don’t understand—” He coughed again; a long fit that seared his lungs. He gasped for air before the fit passed, throat raw and burning.

  Shuffling sounds came from overhead. Fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and drew him up as a flask pressed against his scorched lips. He drank the water and welcomed the cool wetness against his swollen throat.

  “I had to find you. To tell you.” The man’s breath tickled Gwyn’s ear. “I saw you mounted upon a magnificent unicorn of purest white. You stood before an army of many banners. No arrow could pierce you, just as mine could not. You were mighty; mightiest of all. Kingdoms rose in your name. Kingdoms as none have known. Afallon and the Weave were your sword and shield. You are chosen for a great purpose, Gwynter ren Terare — warrior of the bright soul.”

  Try as he might to fight it, even as the Fraeli scout’s alarming words thundered through his mind, Gwyn felt sleep’s hand press against his eyes as wear
iness washed over him. Heavy, deep.

  When he woke again sunlight snaked through the treetops. The forest around him looked different from the place where he’d fallen from his horse. Here the trees stood wide apart, and less undergrowth surrounded the meager camp. On the far side of a smoking fire’s remains, tied to a tree, stood the gelding he’d stolen. It looked well fed and brushed. Beside it lay his pack, unmolested. He still wore the blanket that wasn’t his. Then, his rescuer couldn’t be a dream, yet it felt surreal now; otherworldly.

  “Is Rat awake?”

  Gwyn started and turned his head to find Kive hunched beside a tall, straight tree, clutching a mess of blood and fur. It might still be writhing. Gwyn looked away, stomach churning. “Kive, please. Don’t eat in front of me. If you must eat, do so alone.” Why hadn’t Kive eaten him while he was ill?

  A cough ripped through Gwyn’s lungs, doubling him over. The fit lasted several seconds, then he slumped back down and rolled over, shivering in the thin blanket. The memory of the Fraeli scout’s words returned as he stared into the charred fire pit. “Chosen to what purpose? Conquering the world?” He smiled dryly. He had no ambition to lead men into war and raise up kingdoms for himself. He was content with his lot. Mostly.

  Though he hated the notion, Gwyn remained in his camp for one more night, to be certain he had enough strength to ride through the morrow. Kive appeared content to stay nearby and snare whatever poor creatures he found fit to devour alive. Gwyn did his best to ignore the horrible sounds.

  As dawn spun fiery light through the treetops, Gwyn abandoned the warmth of his blanket, rolled it up, and strapped his pack and roll to the gelding. He found a few unripe berries, mushrooms, and roots to choke down, all the while wishing Aluem were near to provide food as before. But then, if Aluem were near, Gwyn would be much closer to home and less desperate for nourishment.

  As he climbed onto the gelding’s back, Kive emerged from the trees, mouth stained with blood. Gwyn cringed, but drew out a handkerchief from his pocket, still damp from the deluge. “Come here, Kive. Please.”