“You needn’t come with me, Aluem,” whispered Gwyn. “I don’t ask you to.”
‘I know, Gwynter. Still I shall come.’
The Crow King addressed the army, his voice ringing across the green hills. Gwyn heard none of what he said. His eyes found the highway crawling along the northern hills as his heart raced. He’d long dreamed of going to war. Of fighting under the Crow King’s banner, near his brother’s side. Now here he stood. Am I frightened or proud to serve my kingdom? Both, perhaps. He might die for a king he feared, but then, he might die for the land he most loved.
Better to stay alive.
A shadow fluttered at his feet. He glanced up to find a flag streaming in the morning breeze. The Crow Banner: once a symbol of awe and reverence, now a dread hand hovering above Gwyn, directing his course.
The king’s speech wound down. Now he spoke the words Gwyn had heard Lawen repeat a dozen times. Gwyn turned to watch the king, to listen and take what inspiration he could from rote sentiment.
“Serve well and faithfully, people of Simaerin, and by Afallon’s grace, we shall be victorious!”
The men cheered, spears and banners bobbing. The army surged with fervor, ready to begin the long, arduous march northward. To face an invading force. To face the Ilidreth. To perform magic.
The days of marching droned on. Gwyn was fortunate enough to ride rather than walk; but even so, at the end of each day he dismounted, sore, weary, and irritable. The only glimmer of hope along the march came when evening halt sounded, and Gwyn knew he would soon see Lawen.
The brothers were allowed no privacy at dinnertime. Master Traycen and General Cadogan remained present, dominating the conversation as they debated tactics for the coming engagement. Lawen and Gwyn sat on opposite sides of the officers’ table, glancing between the map sprawled across the wooden surface, and one another, offering supportive smiles.
Worse than the grueling march under a brutal sun was the countdown to Gwyn’s maiden battle. Would his mage training be enough? Master Traycen drilled Gwyn as they rode, but the man never dueled against him now. Perhaps he’d decided Gwyn needed some level of rest before he faced the enemy.
On the ninth day into its march, the army remained camped at General Cadogan’s behest. The horses rested while the soldiers mended tack and weaponry and washed up. At dinner, the officers would converge to go over strategies for the impending battle two days hence.
In the late afternoon, General Cadogan allowed Lawen and Gwyn to bathe, and even pointed out a wide stretch of water further upstream, apart from the bulk of the army. He remained beneath a shade tree, letting them stroll upstream alone after he pointed out a sentry stationed on a moss-covered boulder nearby. He said nothing, but Gwyn understood his warning. It was unnecessary. He had no intention of running, though he doubted the sentry’s arrow would hit its mark if he tried.
Lawen waded into the stream ahead of Gwyn, sighing as he sank into the flowing water. He tipped his head back and doused his shoulder-length hair. Gwyn hung his clothes over a low pine branch and slipped into the water, cringing as the icy current climbed his shivering body.
“Enjoy it,” Lawen said, lifting his head. “In late summer, you’ll think of this cold and crave it. By then the streams are too shallow and muddy for a proper bath: it’s sponge bathing, or nothing. I won’t mention the mosquitos.”
Gwyn grinned. “No wonder you’ve become such a priss about baths.”
“You’ve nooo idea.” Lawen waded to the far side, propped his elbows against the bank, and scrutinized Gwyn. “How are you, really, Gwynter?”
Gwyn smiled and lowered his eyes as warmth flowed through him. “You worry too much.”
“It’s my right to worry. What they’ve done to you, how they’ve shackled you — it’s infuriating. You’re not yet of age. You shouldn’t have to go to war this time, Gwyn. And all this talk about how powerful you are, and how involved the Crow King is…His interest in you…” Lawen shook his head. “I don’t like it. It’s not normal.”
“It worries me too,” Gwyn murmured. “I’m frightened, Lawen. I don’t want to kill people. But part of me feels excited too.”
“Of course. You’re a young man going into battle for the first time. Excitement is necessary. It helps you to survive. That, and your good sense, will keep you from making grave blunders, which may save you out there. It’s an ugly place, Gwynter. It never leaves you once you see it, once you take part in it. The battlefield stains your soul. I don’t want that for you.”
“I know. Me neither.” Gwyn looked up. “But as you once said, that’s why I need to go to war. I won’t want it to go on. I’ll want to fight and win quickly, so that peace can come again. That’s why Afallon lets people like you and I go to war. To end it rather than prolong it.” He sighed and gazed at the treetops. “Lawen.”
“Yes?”
“The world is beautiful. Even the dark places, even the True Wood and the ruins of Shaeswéath, are beautiful. You remember Celin, the Ilidreth who helped you search for me?”
“I remember.”
“He could have killed me, yet he didn’t. I met another Ilidreth who tried. I had to threaten him to get away, and later Kive…ate him.” Gwyn shifted. “I heard ghosts weeping in Swan Castle. I saw a fair woman lying as though she were sleeping, but she had long been dead. After that, the Ilidreth force allied with Fraelin captured me. I spoke with their commander. I’ve met the Crow King, and I’ve stared into his eyes in the dark of my cell. I’ve heard the silken tones of his voice and seen the madness lurking in his gaze.
“But the world is beautiful, Lawen. Even its shadows.” Gwyn dropped his gaze to find his brother. “I want to save this world; I want to help it to understand peace. I wish I had that power.”
Lawen smiled faintly. “No one alive has that power all by himself, Gwynny. But sometimes one person can draw all those who might make a difference together. Maybe…maybe someone will be able to do that for Simaerin.”
“I pray to Afallon that someone appears soon,” Gwyn murmured. “The world seems to be on the brink of something. Like it’s holding its breath.”
“I know what you mean, little brother. This battle is different from others I’ve faced. I don’t know just why, but something has shifted. Like the earth is stirring or a storm is brewing. Yet despite the fear it brings…I don’t know if this will make sense, but…it feels somehow right. Necessary. Something akin to that.”
Tension bled from Gwyn’s shoulders. Lawen had put into words the very feelings he’d held, and hearing them aloud, knowing he wasn’t alone, brought a kind of comfort despite the looming battle ahead.
“By the way,” Lawen said, tone grim.
“What is it?”
“I’ve meant to tell you for days, but we’re always watched. It’s important Traycen ren Lotelon doesn’t overhear me. Nathaera is on our trail,” Lawen whispered, barely loud enough for Gwyn to hear over the rushing stream. “She brought Kive. It was the only way to keep him docile. He’s very determined to find you.”
“She’s following us?”
“I begged her not to, but that woman has a mind of her own. The most stubborn creature I’ve ever encountered. What’s worse, she can say the most foolish things imaginable and make them sound rational.”
Gwyn groaned. “I begin to doubt that she attended Windsur on his quest only to convince him to return home.”
“It does seem more likely that she goaded him on. She’s got a craving for adventure, I suspect.”
Gwyn shook his head, swallowing back nausea. “She’s being foolish. Does she not understand what she’s walking into?”
“I tried to explain that very thing to her, but she looked at me as though I were the fool.” Lawen chuckled. “She’s a very rare young woman, no mistake. Where did you say you found her? Perhaps her blood is part fae.”
“Well,” Gwyn said, studying his palms. “Her father is a mage. Perhaps there is something in the blood.”
“Mages aren’t fae. Only humans can become mages. Fae magic is altogether different.”
What an odd thing to say. Gwyn fixed a pointed look at Lawen. “How do you know that?”
Lawen started, as though his thoughts had been far away. “What?”
“What you said. How do you know so much about magery and fae magic?”
Lawen blinked and a frown shadowed his eyes. “I’ve encountered enough of it to know, Gwyn. It isn’t as though I learned of magic after your trial. The king outlawed it for a reason, though the fact he uses it in secret does raise some rather poignant questions. Few know he has established an order of mages.”
“Lawen,” Gwyn hesitated, “what did you mean when you called the king a tyrant? Just before I left for the woods, you called him such, and claimed he’s mad. Why?”
Lawen let out a heavy sigh. Gwyn noted the weariness in his brother’s face, the slump of his shoulders, the guilt burning in his eyes. “Gwynter, I also told you I did horrible things. Things I can’t…things I won’t explain in any great detail. But yes, the king is a tyrant, and yes, he’s mad. Only a madman would murder children to keep them from growing into mages. Only a madman would order the weakest Ilidreth prisoners to be drawn and quartered to…” Lawen squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, ”…to feed the rest of the Ilidreth prisoners with the flesh of their own kin, as well as the remains of Simaeri mages. Children mages, Gwyn. They were eaten.”
Gwyn drew back as bile scorched his throat. He gagged and turned away from the haunted expression on his brother’s face. “Why, Lawen? Why do you still serve him?”
“Because,” Lawen whispered, “I’m still alive.”
Gwyn recoiled, struck by words he never thought he’d hear his brother say. He bit his lip and ran a wet hand over his face. “You wanted to die.”
“Oh, Gwyn. No. No, that’s not what I meant.”
The splash of water brought Gwyn’s head up, and he found Lawen wading toward him. His brother reached him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Gwynter, don’t mistake me. I’m grateful that you healed me. I didn’t want to die. But I swore an oath to serve the Crow King until I do. A binding oath, Gwyn. Much as yours is binding. We’re soldiers now. We serve king and country and magic binds us to that service. We must serve the rightful king of Simaerin.”
Gwyn nodded, lowering his gaze to the water rippling before him. “But does a king forfeit his right to rule in an act of tyranny, brother? Does the Crow King deserve to lead us?”
“No. He doesn’t even march at the head of his army into battle. The man is a coward, as well as mad. Except when addressing those about to march to war, no one even sees him leave Crow Castle. Sometimes I wonder if he’s not a prisoner of his own making. Sometimes it feels like Simaerin is in a prison.”
Lawen’s words pierced something inside Gwyn and a swell of wonder raced through him. “Simaerin is a prison?” he whispered.
“It is for us, sworn to the mad king.”
“It’s deeper than that, Lawen.” Gwyn looked into his brother’s green eyes. “You’ve struck upon something. I only wish I knew what.”
A bell rang downstream. Gwyn and Lawen jumped, and the latter sighed.
“Best finish washing up. The officers’ meeting is about to start.”
Chapter 31
The quiet chirp of crickets did nothing to sooth Nathaera’s nerves. She thought she’d grown accustomed to sleeping out of doors, but the open plains were altogether different from the close confines of a forest. Here, she stood exposed for miles all around. It made following the army challenging. She remained a day behind them, for any closer would send her galloping into the very clutches of Simaeri scouts.
Kive, at least, proved useful. While he didn’t seem inclined to eat rabbits, he could catch them easily. At first Nathaera convinced herself she could use the little animals to supplement her store of food, but upon meeting the gaze of Kive’s first four-legged capture, Nathaera’s heart melted.
She kept the rabbit; not to eat, but for company. It was a rather cuddly companion, so long as one held it snugly until it stopped striving to wriggle free. The few times it managed to escape, Kive promptly brought it back. After a few days, the rabbit had come to accept its new fate as a comfort object for a very silly girl.
For Nathaera knew she was a silly girl to come all this way on horseback, with a fallen Ilidreth as her bodyguard, and only a single pack of essentials. But she also felt she had little choice. Even so close to Gwyn, Kive champed at the bit, resolved to run ahead to locate his Shiny.
Nathaera kept assuring him that Shiny was too busy to be disturbed right now, but she suspected Kive didn’t comprehend what that meant.
Lying under the stars now, Nathaera watched her breath appear in puffs as she shivered under her blankets. She’d brought some padding to sleep on, but it did little against the cold and lumps in the ground. A full moon glared down at her, almost accusing, and Nathaera imagined Mother’s face within the glowing sphere. Mother would be livid when she found the letter Nathaera had left behind, detailing an elaborate fib about running off to sea, and that she might be back someday, weather permitting. Nathaera knew better than to explain the truth this time; otherwise Mother would send Keep Lotelon’s sentries after her. They would find her and drag her home kicking and thrashing.
“Is Fairy Wren sleeping?” Kive’s voice drifted toward her from his perch on a craggy pile of rocks which might be a cairn. Or maybe I’m overreacting. Hundreds of rocks stood in mounds along this stretch of the king’s highway. It numbered among the most desolate landscapes in Simaerin; far too rocky to cultivate.
“No, Kive. I’m not.”
“Is Fairy Wren looking at the heavens?”
“Mm-hm. It’s very pretty, isn’t it, Kive?”
“Very pretty,” he repeated, tone forlorn. “On they sing. On and on and on and on. Always singing.”
“Do you mean the stars?” asked Nathaera, sitting up. She looked at Kive in the darkness, and found his red eyes, bright under the moon.
“Stars,” Kive whispered. “Yes. Stars are always singing.”
“What do they sing about? Do you know?”
“Many things. Too many things. Things that do not matter anymore. All must be darkness and sorrow, and the silly stars don’t understand. On and on they sing: of worlds and dreams and pretty things.”
“But Kive,” said Nathaera, kneeling on her pad. “There truly are dreams and pretty things left. So many. Don’t be so sad. I know you’ve had a dreadful life — I can’t imagine that you came to be as you are unless it was worse than anything I could conceive of. But can’t you see that not all is ended? You have friends now, in Gwyn and me. We can help you not to be alone; to learn to smile and laugh, and maybe even eat normal, decent food.”
“Master says I must eat rats. And flies. And—”
“Who is your master, Kive?”
“Master is master.”
Nathaera frowned. “What does he look like? Can you describe him? What color are his eyes? What color is his hair? Is he tall?”
“Master is master.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Master.”
“I suppose I should have expected that answer.” She patted the ground before her. “Come here, Kive.”
He slipped from the rockpile and padded forward on bare feet. Knelt, and rested his hands in his lap. “Hello, Fairy Wren.”
“Hello, Kive. Listen. What does your master look like? Is he an animal?
“No, Master isn’t an aneeemal.”
“Ooh, what approach can I take…?” She pressed her thumbs together. “Okay, let’s try this. Are Master’s eyes red, Kive? Like yours?”
“Rats have red eyes,” Kive whispered and licked his lips. “Soooo juicy.”
“Yes, we’ve established all that. Are Master’s eyes red?”
“No.”
“Are they blue?”
“Blue?” asked Kive,
canting his head.
“Green, maybe?”
“Green?”
Nathaera grimaced. “You don’t understand colors any more than you understand gender or humans, do you? Hmm. See the moon up there, Kive?”
“Yes.”
“That is silver. Ish. Yellow. Oh dear.” She sighed, but the memory of Swan Castle’s gem tumbled into her mind. “You remember the shiny rock, Kive?”
“Yes. Shiny Rock.”
“It was blue. That was its color. It looked blue, like rats’ eyes look red. Do you understand?”
Kive stared at her for a moment. “Blue. Like the sky? Not this sky, but the other sky?”
“Yes, yes, exactly. Well done, Kive! That’s blue.”
“Blue. Blue.” The ghost of a smile haunted his lips. “That’s a funny word.”
“Isn’t it?” Nathaera glanced around, but hues were so dim in the dark, she wondered how to help him learn other colors by sight. “Um. Oh. Shiny Unicorn.”
Kive straightened from his slouch. “Where?”
“He’s not here, Kive. But his color is white.”
“White.”
“Yes. White. And you know what the sun is, right? The big burning ball in the blue sky?”
Kive nodded.
“The sun is yellow. That’s its color.”
“Yell…oh.”
“Exactly.” She pointed to a distant copse they’d passed earlier that day. “Trees. The trunks are brown. Usually. The leaves are green. Brown trunks. Green leaves.”
“Brown. Greeen.”
“Very good, Kive.” A thrill raced through her as she glimpsed a light in Kive’s eyes. He stared at the shadowy copse, soundlessly repeating the colors he’d learned.
The Complete Duology Page 17
