The fallen fae obeyed and stood before the horse. “How is the shiny rock today, Rat?”
Gwyn reached down and wiped Kive’s lips with the handkerchief. “The shiny rock wants us to keep moving.”
Kive bobbed his head. “I thought so. Shiny Rock was eager to leave the shiny towers. Eager to be useful.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Will you ride with me again, Kive?”
Kive glanced at the horse. “Oh. Clip-clop. Clop-clip. Horse. Yes, Kive will ride. And for dinner, Kive will eat Rat.”
“I’m not a rat, Kive.”
Kive flopped behind Gwyn. “Sooo many rats say that.”
Kive must not have meant Gwyn when he referred to his dinner, or he forgot which rat he’d marked by the time Gwyn tethered the gelding for the night. Dusk had ushered in a cold wind, but Gwyn didn’t dare start a fire. He huddled in his blanket and peered at the gaping sky above the canopy of leaves. A few stars winked back at him in an ocean of swirling clouds.
“Do you ever eat crows, Kive?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the Ilidreth seated across from him.
Kive’s mouth glistened with blood from his recent meal. “Crows? Oh nooo. Never crows. No.” He shook his head for a long time and murmured “no” to himself over and over.
“Is that because they also eat animals?”
“Crows, crows.” Kive tucked his legs up to his chest and began to rock back and forth. “So many crows, feathers, feathers, flying, swirling, pecking.” His chant faded and he held Gwyn’s eyes, seized them, like an unspoken command. “He looks for you, little rat. Looks and looks. He sees you, but maybe he doesn’t understand. Maybe you’re just another rat to him. But you’re not a rat at all. You’re not a rat. You’re not a rat.” His rocking grew faster; his eyes closed. He mouthed the same phrase again, again, again.
“What am I, Kive?” asked Gwyn, riveted by the Ilidreth’s agitation, heart thudding.
Kive’s eyes cracked open. “What are you? Not a rat. Not a bird, or a fly. Not a crow. What are you? Are you a shiny rock? Nooo. Not a shiny rock.” He gasped. Sprang to his feet. Clapped his hands together as a smile lit up his face. “You’re a shiny, aren’t you? Not a rat at all. You never were! You’re a shiny!” He flopped to his knees before Gwyn and stared into his face, eyes wide and bright. “Shiny. Shiny. Shiny!” He reached out and stroked Gwyn’s hair with blood-stained fingers. Gwyn cringed, but didn’t draw away. This was a new side to his peculiar companion — and who could say if Kive would stay docile should Gwyn react badly?
For a long time, the fae stroked Gwyn’s hair, humming a tuneless song under his breath. At last, Gwyn gently took his wrist and lowered his hand.
“So, I’m not a rat now?”
“No,” said Kive, tones hushed. “Not a rat, silly Shiny. You’re a shiny.”
Gwyn nodded, relieved. “Help me to understand, Kive. What makes a shiny, a shiny?”
“Only a shiny can be shiny,” answered Kive, smiling. The abrupt gentleness of his expression, the faint awe in his tone, were a welcome, if perplexing change. Gwyn prayed it would remain.
He reached up and pushed aside the mangled hair in Kive’s face. “You were once bright and beautiful as all the Ilidreth were, is that not true? I wish I could heal you somehow.”
“Once,” whispered Kive, “I was shiny. But now Kive is Kive. Kive is Kive is Kive is Kive is Kive.”
“Kive, will you let me comb your hair? I don’t know if I can keep its length with all your tangles, but I’ll try. I think you might feel less miserable if you were clean and groomed.” Gwyn reached into his pack and pulled out a comb carved from ivory.
“Shiny,” cooed Kive.
Gwyn knelt behind Kive, gingerly took a handful of snarled hair, and began the painstaking process of working through the knots. Kive sat still, making no sound as Gwyn took strand after strand and worked through each until, several hours later, the Ilidreth’s hair fell smooth and straight down his back.
Gwyn massaged his wrist. “There. How is that, Kive?”
The Ilidreth reached back and felt his hair. “Ah, like spider threads! Not chewy spiders – just the threads.” He spun around on his hands and knees. “Shiny, so soft!”
Gwyn laughed. “It certainly is. It will be even softer following a hot bath and a selection of fragrant oils. When we reach Mount Vinwen—” He broke off as a coughing fit took him. It subsided after a moment, and he sipped from his water flask to sooth his throat.
“Is Shiny all right?” asked Kive, pawing Gwyn’s arm.
Gwyn bobbed a nod. “Yes, Kive. I’m all right. It’s just a cough.”
“Oh, cough. Cough is horrible. I don’t like how it sounds.”
Gwyn chuckled. “I don’t like the sound of you eating rats, so I suppose we’re even.”
“Shinies don’t eat rats,” Kive whispered.
“No, we definitely don’t.”
“Only Kives eat rats.”
“I wish they wouldn’t.” Gwyn slipped the comb into his pack. “Well, Kive. I must sleep until dawn. Then we ride on.” He pulled the blanket close, checked that his short sword was near, rested his head against his pack, and shut his eyes.
“Goodnight, Shiny,” whispered Kive in his singsong drawl.
“Sleep well, Kive.”
“Kive doesn’t need to sleep.”
Gwyn smiled faintly. “Have a pleasant night then, Kive.”
“If I see rats, I’ll eat them. That will be pleasant.”
Gwyn turned away from the Ilidreth. “Not in camp, Kive. Outside of camp only. I don’t want to hear.”
“Outside of camp, Shiny. I’ll eat the rats there. Shhh, Horse. Shiny is sleeping. No clip-clop, clop-clip. Shhh.”
The horse made no noise at all that night.
Chapter 16
They stood silent as statuary in the dawn light, arrows nocked and pointed at his heart. Gwyn sat slowly upright and lifted his hands in surrender. The number of Ilidreth surrounding his makeshift bed was hard to guess against the foliage. A lot.
One of the Ilidreth stepped forward. Gwyn’s eyes widened as he recognized the white and blue tabard over the silver armor of Fraelin’s Crane Knights. His hands fell to his sides. “Fraeli allies?”
“Correct, Simaeri. You’ve caused our allies much grief the past few days. Do you deny it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done what I can to save my lands from invasion. I deny nothing.”
The Ilidreth smiled without humor. “He is rather honest for one of the Crow King’s mages. Shall we perhaps skewer him right-side-up rather than by his toes to thank him for his integrity?”
No one laughed, no one smiled. The arrows remained pointed at Gwyn’s heart, unwavering.
“It seems I am alone in appreciating your condescension. Poor Simaeri. You must die this day.” The Ilidreth drew his bowstring back, arrow pointed at Gwyn’s head.
Gwyn stared at the arrow tip, wondering if by some miracle it might miss its mark again even at such short range. He doubted it, unless it truly was Afallon’s will that he live.
He shut his eyes as the bowstring hummed its tightest note.
“Stop!” cried a familiar voice. “You will not hurt Shiny!”
The arrows all lowered, compelled by Kive’s ruling tone. The fallen fae dropped to his feet from a nearby tree and strode up to the commanding Ilidreth.
“You will not hurt Shiny.”
The enemy Ilidreth glared at Kive. “An Ilidreth betrays his own to serve the Crow King?”
Kive flinched back, shoulders hunching. “I serve my master. But I will protect Shiny! You cannot hurt Shiny!”
“This is a dark mage in service of the Crow King, you pitiable fool.” The Ilidreth stabbed a finger at Gwyn. “He is not some radiant creature to revere!”
Gwyn glanced between them. Kive was formidable, but against so many of his own kind, what chance did he stand? Gwyn rose gingerly from the ground, lifting his hands in a show of peace. “Perhaps shedding blood can be av
oided. Let us go on our way and we’ll hinder your forces no more.”
“Oh yes? Is that why you hastily charge toward the forest border to inform the nearest Simaeri outpost of our approach?”
Gwyn shrugged. “Would you do otherwise if our positions were reversed?”
The Ilidreth’s expression softened. “Perhaps not. You behave oddly for one of the Crow’s mages.”
“I’m not a mage. I’m the son of a nobleborn farmer.”
The Ilidreth raised his brow. “Not a mage? Yet you summoned a storm.”
“No, Kive summoned that.”
The Ilidreth shook his head. “The fae cannot summon or alter weather. It is not in our power. Even fallen and unfettered, he could not do so.”
Gwyn faltered. “But I can’t summon rain either. It wasn’t me.”
The Ilidreth stepped past Kive to search Gwyn’s eyes. “You say you’re not a mage; you say you did not summon rain; yet you are a mage and you smell of summoning magic. Are you a liar or are you a simpleton?”
Gwyn’s eyes narrowed. “Neither. I have been told by Aluem that I am a mage, but I know nothing of magic. Nothing of summoning rain. Indeed, I’ve never heard of the Crow King using mages at all. He opposes the use of magic altogether.”
The Ilidreth stared hard at him, then threw his head back and laughed outright. “This is beyond belief! A Simaeri farmer’s son, unaware of magic, yet he summons a rainstorm, befriends a fallen Ilidreth, and converses with a unicorn. What has the world come to?” He clapped a slender hand to Gwyn’s shoulder. “I will allow you to live, Simaeri; but I will not allow you to leave these woods to warn your people. You are now my prisoner, and if your fallen friend wishes to come along, he certainly may. I am High Lord Bowrin in your tongue, commander of the Ilidreth Allies under the Crane King’s illustrious banner. What is your name, Simaeri prisoner?”
“You may call me Gwyn, for that is all the name I intend to bestow.”
Bowrin smiled. “Wise for someone so ignorant. Well, Gwyn. Come along. We’ve far to march before dusk.”
“Don’t hurt Shiny,” Kive piped up.
Bowrin glanced at the fallen fae. “You keep strange company indeed, Gwyn. But where is Aluem?”
“In Simaerin,” Gwyn answered, “though I suspect he’ll come looking for me soon.”
“A bluff?” Bowrin studied his eyes. “No, not a bluff. You are an honest mage, no mistake. The first I’ve met of the like. But come, we must not delay.” He lifted a hand, and all as one, the Ilidreth men-at-arms gracefully slung their bows against their shoulders and started to move through the trees. One Ilidreth untethered Gwyn’s stolen gelding and rested a hand against Gwyn’s shoulder.
“Do not hurt Shiny!” Kive insisted.
Bowrin laughed as he headed for the front of the moving force. “I think, young Gwyn, you will be the safest prisoner we have ever held. Have no fear on that account.” He chuckled as he walked on, Gwyn behind him, guided by the Ilidreth warrior who had laid claim to his shoulder.
Chapter 17
Seated on her packs, Nathaera waited, shivering in a woolen shawl borrowed from Lady Mair. The girl watched the window two stories up. Any moment now he would come.
Any moment.
Come on.
A dark-clad figure appeared at the window. He swung out to cling to the creeping ivy that climbed the wall beside it and began his descent. Nathaera smoothed her dress, tightened her grip on her shawl, and watched until the figure dropped to the ground a few yards before her.
She cleared her throat. Lawen spun, green eyes wide, reflecting moonlight.
“Good evening, Sir Lawen.” She smiled.
“Lady…Nathaera, isn’t it?” He glanced around. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve been waiting for you. The horses are saddled and tethered just there.” She pointed to a patch of shadow beneath a large shade tree. “I doubted highly that you would remain abed while your brother is missing. I also doubted I could sit idly either. It’s a fool’s errand we embark upon, no mistake there. But Gwyn saved my life, and he’s out there somewhere, all alone.” She bit her lip. Unless Kive was with him, which was hardly better.
She shuddered and pushed down the image of Kive with his lips covered in gleaming blood.
Lawen regarded her with narrowed eyes. “You’re coming along?”
“Of course. I’m not sitting here merely to ornament your lawn. Though perhaps some ladies would. No, Lawen, I’m not a brainless dunderhead, but rather a reckless one. I shall accompany you by choice or,” she held aloft a dagger, “you shall come as my prisoner. Whichever better sets your mind at ease.” She smiled amiably.
He rested a hand on his hip, shook his head, and shrugged. “You can’t possibly expect this trip to go well. We’ll likely never find him.”
She nodded in what she hoped was a sage manner. “I’ve considered the risks. Gwyn is worth them all. Now, shall we leave at once, or wait for dawn so the entire estate can see us off?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps at once, my lady. If you’ll stand, I’ll help carry the packs.”
“I can carry one.”
“I expected as much. If you’re coming you can’t become a liability, or I’ll turn back at once, hogtie you, and leave you in a field for the crows.”
Nathaera quietly laughed and hefted her pack as Lawen grabbed the second. Together they trudged to the horses. “I like you immensely, Lawen ren Terare. You’re much livelier than Gwyn painted you out to be.”
The man grinned under the moonlight. “In his defense, I wasn’t lively when last we spoke.”
“You’ve a point there.” They reached the horses, tied on the packs, and mounted. Lawen steered his mount around to face the woods. “We ride northeast for five days, then turn around. If we encounter Fraeli scouts before that time, we turn back sooner. War is brewing, and I won’t drag you into the thick of it, dagger or no.”
Nathaera nodded. “I’m in full accord, sir. I doubt Gwyn would approach the enemy anyway.”
Lawen cast a sideways glance at her. “Oh? You don’t know my brother very well, after all. He’s resourceful, even clever. But he’s also reckless. Or didn’t you gather that from his mad excursion to Swan Castle? If any Fraeli force rides the woods, I’d wager a mound of gold he’s doing all he can to thwart its advancement.”
They rode hard until the forest grew too dense to manage more than a walking gait. Only then did Nathaera notice how quiet the world around her had become. None of the usual chattering wildlife abounded. The only living creature she spotted was a single crow upon the bow of a holly tree. Nathaera watched its beetle-black eyes follow their course, until she and Lawen passed it by.
“It’s unnatural,” she murmured.
“Aye,” whispered Lawen. “Almost unholy. It likely means the Fraeli are near. Few things can chase away wildlife faster than an army.”
Nathaera clutched her horse’s reins. “Great Afallon above, protect us.”
“Hold, Simaeri.”
Nathaera drew up her reins as Lawen halted his mount. The voice came from ahead, but no one stood beneath the trees. On impulse, Nathaera lifted her eyes to the branches above. Sure enough, there stood a shadowed sentinel, arrow raised against them.
“What business brings you so deep into these woods?” the shadow demanded.
“We seek our lost companion,” answered Lawen.
Nathaera piped up. “And now that we’ve answered, perhaps you’ll explain what you’re doing so deep in these woods?”
The arrow’s point inched in her direction. “The only reason I’ve not killed you yet is because one of you is a woman. Simaeri have become foolish indeed to bring the fairer sex here.”
“I brought myself,” Nathaera said with only a little malice, “thank you.”
“I will rephrase my question: What brought your lost companion into these woods, so that you felt compelled to wander in to find him?”
“He came on my account,” Lawen said. “Beyond th
at, I’ll say no more.”
“What are your names, intruders?”
“I am Lawen and this is Lady Nathaera.”
“From where do you hail?”
Lawen replied without hesitation. “Mount Vinwen, westward. Pray, what is your name?”
“I am called Celin in your tongue. It seems you and I are acquainted with the young man you call lost: Gwynter ren Terare of Vinwen.”
Nathaera gasped as Lawen perked up. “You’ve seen him?”
“Alas, not recently. I saw him early in his quest. But you say he came here on your account. I had understood that he came seeking a cure for his brother.”
“He did. I am that brother.”
Silence. “Are you mended on your own?”
“Nay. He sent the cure ahead with Lady Nathaera. I’m healed thanks to him, but he’s not come home. In my worry, we seek him, though it’s foolhardy to try.”
Nathaera wondered at the wisdom of explaining so much to a stranger. She urged her mount to take a step forward. “How do you know Gwyn?”
“I aided him,” Celin answered, still hooded in the shadow of the trees. “My friend accompanied him to Shaeswéath.”
“Do you mean— Might you mean Aluem?”
“I do,” Celin said. “But if Gwynter ren Terare is lost, what became of my friend?”
With relief Nathaera explained the last leg of her journey to Vinwen and Aluem’s return to the woods in search of Gwyn. Celin listened in silence until she’d finished.
“Leave the search to Aluem,” he said. “He is swift and clever. You risk yourselves without need. If Gwynter can be found at all, Aluem will succeed where you cannot. Return to Vinwen. Wait for word. Even should Aluem have no success, he will not give up the search without letting you know.”
“But—” Lawen began.
“Go home.” The man’s tone was sharp as broken glass. “Would you waste the great gift your brother has offered you? Few are given such a chance as yours. Return to Vinwen and place your faith in Aluem and in Gwynter. They succeeded once. Shall you doubt them now?”
The Complete Duology Page 10
