The company started off. Gwyn glanced back once toward the woods. Celin had vanished.
“Gwyn!”
Mother raced down the front steps of the manor house and reached up for Gwyn before Aluem had a chance to halt. Gwyn leapt from the unicorn’s back and wrapped his arms around the slight woman.
“Hello, Lady Mother.”
“You fool. You reckless, brave—” She pulled back. “You’re thin as a reed. And pale! Have you been ill?”
“I was. But I’m over the worst of it. Only a cough now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What an exchange that would be, replacing one son for another. Had neither of you any thought for my feelings?” She sighed and caressed his cheek. “Come inside. I’ll have Cook make you a feast. Some mulled cider will warm you up in the meantime.” She turned to Lawen. “And you, back to bed.”
Lawen started toward the door.
“Not that way. You’ll go in by the same method you got out. See that the doctor doesn’t spot you. Shoo!”
Lawen chuckled and changed course for the side of the house.
Last of all Mother turned on Nathaera. “You’re not much of a lady, running off like that, but I’ll ask you to at least look presentable.” Her words cracked like a whip, but Gwyn caught the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “Your betrothed has been frantic. He borrowed a horse and has gone looking for you for several hours each day, but he’s returned for the night. Go put his mind at peace.”
Nathaera bobbed a curtsy and hurried inside ahead of mother and son. Gwyn wrapped his arm around Mother’s waist and ushered her up the steps and into the vestibule. “I’m sorry I worried you, Mother. But as you see, Lawen is healed. I could do no less than try.”
She sighed. “I know, Gwyn. You’re far too much like your father. I feared where you had gone seeking help, and lo, I was right. What confounds me is how you survived it.”
Gwyn’s mind flitted to the arrows barely missing him again and again. “I must credit Afallon.”
“Then it’s a very good thing recklessness doesn’t rob devoutness.”
They walked along the gallery and into the dining hall. Heat from a roaring fire rolled through Gwyn, warming his cheeks and stilling the gooseflesh on his arms. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been.
“Sit down. I’ll see what Cook has.” Mother pushed him gently toward a chair, and Gwyn took it. Nathaera and Lawen were nowhere in sight. Gwyn smiled as he thought of his brother. Healed. It had worked! Every harrowing moment had been worthwhile. The weariness, the illness, the fear, the rats…
Kive!
Gwyn shot from his chair, scooting it noisily backward. He hurried from the dining hall, raced down the gallery, and darted through the front door. “Kive?”
The fallen Ilidreth danced from around Aluem. “Shiny! Look at all the crunchy birds!” He pointed to the chickens.
Aluem turned his head toward Gwyn. ‘I have been attempting to dissuade him from eating any.’
Gwyn laughed despite himself. “I’m certain there are plenty of rats in the barn, Kive. Why not investigate there? But only little rats, all right? Don’t eat any rats that walk about on two feet.”
Kive cocked his head. “Two feet?”
Gwyn patted his legs. “One, two. The big rats don’t crawl. Don’t eat the big rats. Do you understand?”
Kive bobbed a vigorous nod. “Only little rats, Shiny.”
Gwyn pointed toward the barn. “Try in there.”
Kive raced off at once, skipping lithely toward the large stone barn as he hummed a tuneless sound.
“I’m sorry I left you both alone.” Gwyn inclined his head to Aluem. “Forgive me. It was thoughtless.”
‘But understandable. You have been reunited with your family, following a traumatic journey. Now is the time for you to rest.’
Gwyn stroked Aluem’s muzzle. “And what of you? Is this where we part? You’ve done more for me than I could ever repay.”
Aluem’s opalescent eyes held his gaze and seemed to see all there was of Gwyn. ‘Have you forgotten that you saved me also, Gwynter?’
“Are we even, then? Where will you go now?”
‘Perhaps to the barn, to see that Kive does not eat any big rats.’
Gwyn blinked. “Are you staying?”
‘I am for now. Your journey for your brother has ended, Gwyn, but not your peril from it. I will stay for a while and see if the storm clouds pass away unbroken.’
Warmth flooded Gwyn’s heart. He wrapped his arms around Aluem’s neck and buried his face in the unicorn’s sweet-smelling coat. “Thank you, friend among friends. But please don’t put yourself at risk.”
‘Nonsense,’ replied Aluem with a smile in his voice. ‘Most men do not perceive me as a unicorn, and those few who may on their own, cannot, should I desire to disguise myself. As once I told you, Gwynter: You are a rare man to see me and ride me as you do. Thus, so long as you banish any thoughts of violence or greed, lust or cowardice, from your heart and mind, I shall stay until your need of me has ended.’
Gwyn pulled back to study the unicorn’s fair countenance. “If that day should never come? If I shall always need you?”
Though the unicorn’s face remained serene, Gwyn sensed that Aluem smiled. A pleasant warmth rippled through Gwyn’s frame, banishing the last of his chill. ‘Then I shall remain at your side until the end of your days, for thus I would choose to be, friend of my heart.’
“Unless I become greedy and corrupt,” Gwyn said. “I don’t want to be those things, Aluem. But I can be reckless and thoughtless, and I have a temper I’m learning only slowly to control.”
‘I do not ask you not to be human, Gwynter. I only ask that you not become a beast.’
Chapter 20
A harsh knock hammered the front door of the manor. Horses whinnied in the courtyard outside. Gwyn sprang from his bed, raced to the window, and peeked between his dark curtains. In the pale morning light, he spotted two men in red tabards standing at attention. One held the banner of the Crow King.
His heart tumbled into his stomach. He quickly dressed, tied his hair back, slipped on his boots, and left the quiet of his room to creep down the corridor. Voices rose from the vestibule below. Gwyn paused at the head of the stairs to listen.
“I will ask you only once more. Is he or isn’t he at home?”
Mother’s voice dripped with venom. “Having been woken so abruptly from my slumber, how am I to know if he’s gone already for the fields? Gwynter is a very difficult boy to keep track of.”
“Please send a servant to summon him, then, and let us find the answer. We have an important message to deliver.”
“Very well.” Mother called for a chambermaid to locate Gwyn. “In the meantime, gentlemen, would you care for tea? I doubt Cook has anything more substantial so early in the morning.”
“Thank you, no.”
Silence followed as the chambermaid slipped up the stairs. She spotted Gwyn, but kept walking, as though he didn’t exist. Mother had trained her servants well.
“Might I inquire after Lord Lawen’s health?” asked the man.
“His health has been lately very poor, but there’s some hope for him.”
“Really? I’m relieved to hear it. He’s a good swordsman. A good soldier.”
“Yes,” Mother replied.
Gwyn drew a steadying breath, tucked his surcoat straight, and descended the stairs. Two soldiers stood in the vestibule. The nearest to Mother was tall and fair-haired, his tabard decorated with the Crow King’s device: the silhouette of a black crow in profile. He cradled his helm in his arm and held a scroll in his other hand.
“Are you Gwynter ren Terare?” asked the man.
“I am,” said Gwyn. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, sir?”
“Lord Pensivil ren Dorsen, adjutant to General Cadogan.”
Gwyn clicked his heels together and bowed. “An honor, sir. May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?”
Lord Pensivil held out the scroll. “A letter from his Royal Majesty the Crow King. You’re under arrest for the deliberate use of magic, punishable by death under the law. You will accompany me now and remain in custody until the date of your trial to commence a fortnight and three days hence.”
Gwyn took the scroll, broke the wax seal, and unrolled it. The wording echoed the lordling’s pronouncement.
Mother took a single step forward, eyes blazing. “This is an outrage, sir. My own son, accused of such a heinous—”
Pensivil raised his hand and she cut off.
“No one here has the power to alter this, my lady. Your son must stand trial for the crimes of which he’s accused. If you’ve something to say, say it there and then.” The lord turned back to Gwyn. “Gather what you may need. Choose a horse and come with me now.”
Gwyn nodded. “I understand. I’ll be just a moment.” He turned and started up the stairs, heart hammering, mind reeling. How did they know? The mage’s mark? Could the crows in the woods really report to the Crow King, their master? How could Gwyn avoid execution? He was guilty of finding and using magic. What would become of Kive? Would Lawen also face a trial for being healed? He’d not chosen it. What of Nathaera? She’d been the one to trigger the magic to heal Lawen. Would the Crow King demand justice of her also? Blessed Afallon, let them be safe.
At the top of the stairs, beyond view of the vestibule, stood Lawen, Nathaera, and Windsur. The first two stared wide-eyed, robed, disheveled from sleep, while Windsur regarded Gwyn with a smug smile, eyes dark and glittering.
And Gwyn understood.
Chapter 21
Crowwell, the seaside capital of Simaerin, rose like obsidian before the bright southern Vaymeer Ocean. Three hundred years ago, when the first Crow King ascended the throne, he had moved his court from the old capital of Londolin further west, erected an enormous castle of black stone, and called the surrounding land Crowwell. A city rose around the castle and thrived under his magnanimous hand.
Gwyn had never visited the capital before now. Whenever Father came to this enormous city on business, he’d either brought Lawen or his steward along, or he sent one of them in his stead. Since Father’s death, the steward had continued to oversee such matters. Gwyn had seen no need to take a hand in that until he came of age.
He hadn’t anticipated seeing Crowwell for another year, at the beginning of spring. Certainly, he never intended to come as a prisoner.
Now he rode Aluem over the crest of a hill and slowed to view the city spread wide before him behind enormous walls of thick stone. On an opposing hill rose the turrets of Crow Castle, banners flapping on the sea breeze. The castle nestled within the walls of Crow Keep, a fortress within a fortress.
Lord Pensivil allowed him a moment to comprehend the city, then he motioned his small contingent onward, guiding Gwyn and Aluem down the tree-lined highway to Crowwell, flanked by armored soldiers who raised the Crow King’s banner as they neared the city gates. The gates drew aside to admit the contingent and slowly shut after the company rode into the cobbled thoroughfare.
The hustle and bustle of a city shaped by commerce closed in around him. A thousand scents and sounds assaulted him, and bright shade awnings fought to snare his attention as voices beckoned and shouted out wares of every kind. To avoid harassment by the merchants, Gwyn lifted his eyes to Crow Castle looming dead ahead beyond the city. As he studied the dark stones of the mighty edifice, dread flooded his body, heavy and oppressive. The sounds of the port city rolled away as he contemplated what lay before him: a trial and death by fire. And why? Because he couldn’t let his brother die.
It didn’t seem right to execute someone for using magic when that magic had done no harm. What of Aluem? Was the unicorn an evil just because the king said so?
But the Crow King was divinely appointed by Afallon, wasn’t he? Besides, the Church of Afallon echoed the sentiment of their king. Doctrinally, only Afallon could perform miracles, while magic was declared the counterfeit of those miracles. To use magic was tantamount to heresy.
Why then did Gwyn feel Afallon had guided him, even protected him? Was that not a miracle too?
Gwyn now knew firsthand the horror of fallen magic. He’d seen Kive, watched him eat living rats, heard of him eating human flesh. He’d seen the state of the True Wood and of Swan Castle. He’d also seen Lady Shalesta caught in eternal slumber, lovely and pure and certainly not evil. Wasn’t it possible that Afallon could, as Celin and Aluem suggested, bless his children with magic to be used for good, as much as magic could be used for ill? Weren’t people allowed choice in order to grow and shape their souls for Heaven?
Gwyn shook his head. He could ponder doctrine all day, but what use was it at this point? His fate was likely sealed. No one at his trial would heed his questions and give him an answer that satisfied all.
If I die here, I won’t die in vain. Lawen lives. He’s well. That’s enough for me.
Crowwell stretched on longer than Gwyn could have imagined. It took thirty minutes or longer to cross the many squares of commerce and trot through the affluent streets that led gradually up a slope to a second gate, which granted the contingent access to a long, tree-lined lane that curved up to the impressive facade of Crow Keep.
The third gate swung aside at a call from Lord Pensivil, and Gwyn rode into the Keep, where hooded men in black cloaks encircled him. Lord Pensivil drew out a scroll identical to the one he’d given Gwyn one week before at Mount Vinwen. He handed this one to a cloaked man who stepped to the fore of the group.
“Gwynter ren Terare, as requested,” Lord Pensivil said.
“Thank you for your service,” replied the cloaked man in a mellow tone. “You may report to General Cadogan. We will take the prisoner hence.”
Lord Pensivil inclined his head. He nudged his horse toward a lane that led away from the castle proper, and his soldiers followed, leaving Gwyn alone with Aluem and the cloaked men.
The leader pulled his hood back to reveal a round face and light eyes framed by unruly auburn curls. “Welcome to Crow Keep, Gwynter ren Terare. The Order of Corvus will host you until your trial in one week’s time. Come this way.” His eyes lowered to study Aluem. He bowed his head. “We will see that your companion is well treated.” He started to turn away, paused, glanced back. “Hurry along.”
Gwyn frowned and said nothing. He and Aluem followed the stream of hooded figures along the main thoroughfare and past several buildings that looked like barracks. Soon they turned right and followed a moat until they reached a bridge. Aluem crossed it, and Gwyn glanced down. The water of the mote stood still and clear. He looked up as they reached the other side and turned right again to follow a cobbled path running beside the castle’s wall. Eventually the trail curved left and brought them to a wooden door standing ajar.
“Please, enter,” the leader of the cloaked men said, gesturing. “You may ride.”
Aluem paced through the doorway and entered a wide room lit by torches. Gwyn glanced around. The floor was made of dirt and the walls appeared scarred by deeply etched runes.
“Dismount,” the man ordered.
Gwyn obeyed and rested a hand on Aluem’s neck. His heart began to race and sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Here he would be separated from Aluem. He would be truly alone among strangers.
A hooded man came forward and gestured toward a side door. “Leave your mount here and come with me.”
Gwyn turned to Aluem. “Goodbye, my friend.”
Aluem eyed him somberly. ‘This is not the end, Gwynter. Your purpose does not expire here.’
Gwyn offered a trembling smile. “I’ll see you soon, then.” He turned from Aluem and followed the leader of the cloaked men from the room and into an earthy-scented passageway trailing downward.
“Your cell will be down here. You will be provided with a bed, food, and water. You should know, magic is suppressed in this place. You’ll not be able to summon aid to escape.”
“I do not intend to escape,” Gwyn whispered.
At last they reached a corridor stretching left to right. The man turned left and brought Gwyn to a door forged from steel. He pushed it aside and admitted Gwyn into a small room without windows. Gwyn gagged on the close, musty air. A pallet made with straw haunted one corner. Mice scurried in the dismal light of a single candle.
“Use your light sparingly,” the man said. “There will be no replacement.”
Gwyn nodded and moved to the center of the cell. He turned to face his warden. “Thank you.”
The man barked a laugh. “So civil.” He turned away. Paused. “You are allowed a priest to commune with you through the coming week. Do you want one?”
“Yes, please.”
“Very well. I’ll send for one in the morning. Pleasant dreams, ren Terare.” The man shut the door softly, but the sound echoed through Gwyn’s mind like a knell of doom.
He sank to his knees and prayed.
“Blessed Afallon defend us, but this is a dismal tomb.”
The voice brought Gwyn upright. A single night in the cell had left him shaken, chilled, and desolate, as though he’d been locked away for a year.
“Please step inside,” said a second voice from the open doorway.
Gwyn squinted against the shaft of light and found two figures. One was tall, the other short. The second figure entered, and the door swung shut behind him, near enough to brush his heels. The room turned black.
“Surely they gave you a candle.”
Gwyn fumbled in the dark for the candle beside his bed. “Aye, but nothing to light it by, as I discovered too late.”
The man grunted. “Sounds like the Order. Just a moment.” Feet scuffed against the stone floor, then a fist pounded against the door. The rattle of keys sounded on the other side, and the door cracked open.
“Finished already, priest?”
“Nay, I can’t even begin. We want some light, my good man.”
The jailer heaved a long sigh. The door slammed shut and footsteps retreated down the corridor. A few seconds later the feet came scraping back, the door opened, and light flooded the cell. Gwyn shielded his eyes with an arm.
The Complete Duology Page 12
