Laughter like rushing wind filled Gwyn’s mind. ‘Can I know your heart better than you? Do not run through such emotions. Rather, stride and view each as you would study every flower in your path, until you comprehend what they signify. Give yourself time, young Gwynter, for the answer is not required at the first of a journey but is discovered along the way. Did we find Lawen’s cure at the start, or was there much toil before we reached your goal and gained your reward? Do not be so hasty.’
Gwyn smiled. “Am I losing patience, Aluem? I hadn’t meant to. My mind is just so full.” He stroked the unicorn’s mane. “Kive is missing. He came back to Simaerin by himself, which is what brought Nathaera so suddenly. I’m worried — for both of them. Especially for Kive. The Crow King is still adamant about catching him. I’m not certain where to look for Kive, if he isn’t at Vinwen. Where else might he go? I fear to the capital itself…”
‘It is grim news indeed. But there is one place which may beckon him more strongly than his bond with you.’
Gwyn shivered. “Swan Castle? But Celin forbade him from entering those woods again. He said he would kill him.”
‘So he did, and I believe my friend intends to follow through on that oath, if required. There is only one question: Shall you seek out Shaeswéath once more in search of Kive or let his fate alone. You have long been apart. Is there yet an obligation?’
Gwyn pushed himself from the straw. “Yes. Celin charged me to keep him near, and I have failed that in every way. I owe Kive much, not the least being my life. And Nathaera is fond of him. She would blame herself should he die. There’s also the Crow King. I won’t allow him the satisfaction of such a victory.”
‘Your leave may not be sufficient time to return from Shaeswéath, even should we find Kive without incident.’
Gwyn nodded. “Yes, but I suspect we won’t be alone in searching for Kive in the True Wood. We may encounter the Crow King en route. So my gut says, and in matters of the king I’ve learned to heed it. Should that be the case, my tardiness will hardly matter.” He smiled grimly. “I can make my report more conveniently this way.”
The barn door swung open. “Gwynny, are you in here?”
“Yes.”
Lawen’s head appeared in the crack of the doorway, haloed in sunlight from outside. “We have a guest. He’s asking specifically to see you.”
“Who is it?” Gwyn asked, striding toward the door.
“Towwen Brym. He’s come on a matter connected with a certain genealogy.”
Gwyn’s heart withered and dropped into his stomach.
Chapter 41
“No call for secrecy on my account,” declared Towwen Brym as he shook Gwyn’s hand with the vehemence of a hurricane. “I’ve been in correspondence with the Gilhan family of Fraelin for several years, so I know everything. Adesta’s father was ecstatic upon discovering the lost line of Wintervale, and he couldn’t bear not to write to me and spill everything. But rest assured, he divulged the facts by way of a code we conjured up long, long ago.”
“Actually,” piped up a second man seated in the parlor, a cup of tea in one hand, “the code is mine, as is the correspondence. But Towwen enjoys rifling through the personal belongings of others and making their affairs his own.” He rose and inclined his head. “My name is Brioc Ffyr. It’s a true honor, sire.” A smile quirked at his lips. “That wasn’t intended to rhyme. At least not consciously.”
Gwyn looked between them, bewildered by their sudden appearance in his home, forty miles north of Charquae. Towwen Brym was a small man, slight of limb, with unruly hair wisping about his head like a flimsy halo tinged with premature grey. His apparel was of coarse cloth, smudged with ink and patched haphazardly. Brioc Ffyr, meanwhile, looked well-groomed, a little on the plump side, with an amiable air and grounded eyes. He wore clean, simple clothes. He must be a decade older than his business partner, even as he appeared healthier.
“Why are you here?” asked Gwyn. He swallowed to wet his parched mouth and resisted an urge to twist the front of his tunic.
“I already said—”
Brioc cut his friend off. “We were sent for several days ago. By Lawen.”
Gwyn turned toward his brother, nerves humming in his head. “When?”
“At the inn. I sent a messenger pigeon while you were asleep,” Lawen said.
“Why?”
“Why?” laughed Towwen Brym. “Why else? To meet our king!”
Brioc offered a kind smile. “True enough, we wished to meet you. That, and we always come when we are called by the head of our order.”
Gwyn stared, mind reeling. “Your order? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
His brother smiled his fond smile. “I meant to tell you so many times, Gwynter, but the Crow King always watched you. Always kept us apart. And before that, you were still young.”
“Tell me what?” Gwyn asked.
“I am head of the Order of Cygnus. We stand against the Crow King and Corvus, though until recently our numbers have remained small. Our father led Cygnus before me.”
The implications dawned on Gwyn like a bleak winter sunrise. “You’re a mage.”
“I am. Conjuration is my skillset. It’s very potent and therefore often lethal. My magic was killing me, until you found that cure.”
A knock sounded at the door. Before anyone could answer it, the door swung open and in stepped Mother and Nathaera.
“I hope nothing significant was discussed without us,” Nathaera said. Her gaze met Gwyn’s, and though her cheeks reddened, she didn’t look away. Her eyes shone bright and filled with what Gwyn thought might be defiance.
“Nothing much,” replied Towwen. “Just catching His Majesty up to speed.”
Gwyn flinched. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Oh,” Nathaera said over him, “on which matters?”
“I told you once that I’m a mage,” Lawen said.
The girl nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“I am also the head of an order of mages in rebellion against the Crow King. I just explained as much to Gwynter.”
Nathaera laughed. “What a day for revelations! It’s wonderful.” She turned to the two guests. “And what are you?”
“Mages of the same order,” Brioc answered.
“Superb!” She drifted toward a couch and sank into the cushions. “So then, are we planning to openly oppose the king soon?”
“Well,” said Lawen, glancing toward Gwyn. “We intended to use the heir of Wintervale to draw numbers to us. Legends do exist in Simaerin of an heir who would rise up to free the slave, enrich the common man, and overthrow the tyrant king. Now the stories are growing. People are praying to Afallon for deliverance. Towwen uses his printing press to circulate the stories more.”
“People can’t read,” Gwyn murmured.
“Aye,” Brioc said, “but priests can, and we’ve a few of them in our pockets.”
“Rindermarr Lorric,” Gwyn guessed.
Brioc nodded. “To name one.”
“I can’t go to war yet,” Gwyn said. The room fell still. “I have to find Kive. He is key in all this. If the Crow King finds him first, we shall likely lose. I don’t know quite why, or how I know it, but so my gut tells me, and that I must heed.”
“But the Ilidreth is lost,” Mother said. “Where would you even begin?”
“Shaeswéath,” Gwyn replied. “Swan Castle. I believe he went home, and the Crow King knows it.”
“You can’t,” Mother said. “It’s a wonder you survived those woods the first time. I forbid you to go.”
“But go I must and shall. Mother, I’m no longer a child, but a man and mage. The True Wood cannot claim me, no matter its will. But I won’t go alone. Aluem will come with me.” He gently smiled. “You needn’t fear for me, unless the Crow King follows. Then I’d be in no greater danger than I am already.”
“What if you do face the Crow King? Have you the power to slay him?”
Gwyn shook his hea
d. “No, but if what you’ve said of my heritage is true, he can’t kill me either. I’m not chasing the king to end his reign, not yet. This is about my peculiar friend, one who deserves the chance to live and heal. I’m going.”
“Then I shall go with you,” said Nathaera, rising from the couch.
Mother gasped. “You can’t. It’s far too dangerous for a lady.”
“But I’m not a lady! My father disowned me ages ago. I’m hardly more than a ragamuffin, and as such, I’m free to do as I please. Ragamuffins do, you know.”
“I shall also come.”
Everyone turned toward the accented voice in the doorway. Adesta Gilhan glared at Gwyn, issuing a silent challenge.
Gwyn sighed. “It is not for me to say who will enter the True Wood and risk his life. Let every man choose his own path.”
“Every man,” chimed in Nathaera, “and every ragamuffin.”
“I’m not going,” Towwen Brym said. “I’m not a warrior mage. Words are my skillset, and I’ll be little use in such a place as that. I like Ilidreth at a safe distance and no closer.”
“I would follow you, sire,” said Brioc Ffyr, “if not for the fact I’m also of little good on such a quest. I will remain behind, rallying our forces and recruiting, as I pray to Afallon for your swift and safe return.”
All eyes shifted to Lawen. His eyes gleamed dark and troubled. Gwyn knew his thoughts. Lawen was a leader, and he understood his duty to his men, but he also cared about Gwynter. Could he step back and let his little brother and his small band journey through the True Wood to face death or worse? His face cleared as light ignited in his gaze.
“I feel that the two choices before me are really just one,” Lawen said. “We talk of defying the king. We talk of rebellion and warfare. Well, the battle has already begun. The next engagement will likely be at Swan Castle, and so it is to there I set my path. I will come with you, Gwynter, and I’m glad I do so with a light conscience.”
Gwyn’s heart loosened, though he hadn’t known it had been bound. “I gladly accept your company.”
“Besides,” Nathaera said, “you’re the true king, Gwyn. We really must follow you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”
Towwen Brym barked a laugh, but Gwyn felt the blood rush from his face. Everyone here already accepted him as their ruler, a man set to lead the way into a brighter future, filled with wealth and prosperity, fulfilled dreams and blue skies.
He nearly opened his mouth to refute them again; he wasn’t king. He would never agree to be king. But he hesitated and shook his head. Even if he spoke with thunder in his words and lightning in his eyes, he doubted they would heed him. Their heads were full of summer dreams, while he saw winter coming on.
Better that he steeled himself for the inevitable. The future of Simaerin depended on the Crow King’s defeat. Gwyn must face him first of all.
Chapter 42
The search party struck out from Vinwen at dawn. Irritation plagued Gwyn’s mind as he led the way into the woods, retracing his route from what seemed ages past. He had intended to head out the night before, alone but for Aluem, and together they could race all the way to Swan Castle as swiftly as a windstorm. Instead well-meaning, snail-paced friends slowed them down.
It wouldn’t last. Gwyn had spoken with Lawen already, and they agreed that those on horseback could ride with Gwyn as far as Celin’s Vale. After Kive’s survival was assured, Gwyn and Aluem would ride on, the others following as quickly as they could, in case Gwyn never made it to Shaeswéath. He might be immune to death at the Crow King’s hand, but he was not invincible.
The first night in the woods passed quietly. Toward dawn, Gwyn rose from his bedroll and stood at the edge of camp, straining his ears for any sound. All held still and silent. Like the dread anticipation before a siege. The trees stretched their limbs long, but not even the faint groan of their movements descended on a breeze. There was no breeze.
The Crow King is near.
“You’ve invited death into these woods.”
Gwyn started and spun toward the familiar voice. Not the king, but another Ilidreth, his tone silken and soft. Celin stood beneath an ancient elm, adorned in the rich motley colors of his kind, an arrow aimed at Gwyn’s heart.
Gwyn inclined his head. “I came to find my charge. Have you seen Kive?”
“I warned you,” Celin whispered. “Had I seen him, he would be dead. It would be better so. But you are not alone in seeking him.”
“I know,” Gwyn whispered. “I must find him first. You consider Kive’s death a mercy, but I’m afraid it’s otherwise.”
“Your Crow King wants him alive,” Celin said. “Is that not reason enough to end him?”
“But Kive is your prince.”
Celin stiffened. “My prince is dead. All the royal house is dead. They fell on the night of blood, and none can bring them to their feet again.”
“But Kive was your prince,” Gwyn insisted. “You don’t really want to kill him, do you? You wish to end his suffering. What if there’s another way, Celin? What if he’s healing? What if — as the Crow King fears — Kive can mend his mind and raise an army of Ilidreth to stop the king from conquering the woods?”
Celin laughed without humor. “Does the Crow King fear such a thing? Can he fear anything?”
“I think he fears a great deal. I believe he fears most of all an alliance between rightful kings he cannot slay, who would unravel his claim to land and woods.”
“The line of Lord Roth and his lady fair is broken, and the line of Wintervale is faded.” Celin lowered his bow. “The Crow King has won.”
“Kive is mending,” Gwyn said. “He doesn’t see me as a rat, but as a Shiny. He sees Nathaera differently too.”
Celin shook his head “Mending or not, he remains fallen. A fallen Ilidreth cannot be saved. His magic is dark, his soul twisted.”
“But that isn’t fair,” said Gwyn, a fire burning in his chest. “Kive didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to fall.”
“In the end, he gave up.”
“The Crow King tortured him! How long could any man endure such conditions? I’ve seen the king’s cruelty. I’ve heard what he does to Ilidreth prisoners. How can you call that a choice?”
Celin blinked. “Then you know?”
“I guessed that the Crow King was Kive’s master, and after that I realized he is Ilidreth.”
“I see. Then you know only half the story.” Celin sighed. “It hardly matters. Go. Find Kive and try to spare him. You will fail. But your efforts do you some credit. Farewell, Gwyn. Do not seek me again. We are not allies.” He started into the trees.
“Wait!”
Celin paused.
“You know the story. You know how Swan Castle fell. Why the Crow King betrayed his people and tortured his prince. But Aluem said no one now remembers.”
“One should not trust a unicorn’s memories of such events. They are pure and peaceful creatures and do not long recall the pain and anguish of war. Nor do they wish to. I am surprised that Aluem has remained so long at your side, battle mage.”
“I’m equally surprised, but he wants to stay even now. He wishes to make me his kin. We’d intended to perform the rites already, but Kive’s situation has delayed us.”
Celin’s eyes widened. “He wishes to bind himself to you? A battle mage? A Simaeri? Perhaps the world is wholly mad at last.”
“Celin,” whispered Gwyn, “tell me of the Crow King. Why did he betray his people?”
“I do not know why!” Celin lowered his head and sighed. “Come, Gwynter ren Terare. If you are to fight him, it is best to know all that any can discover.”
Gwyn followed the Ilidreth bowman. Soon he found himself in the silvery Vale he’d thought never to see again.
Celin guided him to the shimmering pool, bent down, and played his fingers across the water as though he plucked a harp. Humming music filled the air and the ripples in the pool stretched and grew, forming the image of Swan C
astle in its age of glory, bright and glowing.
“Behold Shaeswéath, during the reign of Lord King Roth ave’al Edelin. At his side stood Lady Shalesta of Fraelin, chosen queen of the Ilidreth kingdom, though she was of human blood.” From the pool, water bubbled up, growing higher and higher until it coalesced into the shape of a man and woman standing hand in hand, erect and graceful. Prisms of color faintly painted their forms, and Gwyn recognized the woman as the raven-haired beauty long asleep in Swan Castle.
“Behold their two sons, Kovien ave’al Edelin, heir to Shaeswéath, and Kive ave’ar Edelin, second-born.”
The watery shapes frothed and writhed, changing from Lord and Lady into their sons, tall, fair-haired, handsome. Gwyn’s heart constricted as he stared into — not one — but two familiar faces. Kive, the younger, slightly shorter, did not surprise him. But staring into the fair and gentle face of Kovien, now the maddened, cruel Crow King, rocked Gwyn to his core.
Gwyn bowed his head before the fluid shapes. “But why? Did the Crow King not love his family? How could he destroy his own kin?”
“I do not know,” Celin murmured. “None now living knows. Perhaps once, his younger brother understood. The Crow King, as now he is called, held the young prince captive for many long decades within Swan Castle. Held him and did unspeakable wrongs against him. But as Kive’s mind is, even he no longer knows his brother’s motivations. Indeed, he does not know his brother at all. Kovien is dead, just as Lord Roth and Lady Shalesta are dead. Kive alone remains, for he has not forgotten his name. Once he does forget, the kingdom of Ilid shall fade forever, no longer rooted to the world.”
The Complete Duology Page 24
