Parsha’s grin stretched. ‘The boy who brought me here. He came to my cave, not to slay me, but to tame me. Of all the strange notions of this world, I’ve never heard its equal. When he declared it, I could not help but laugh. And laughter is so contagious, the robust child laughed with me. Soon we were friends, for laughter secured that bond at once. Thus, when he next implored me as a friend to become tame and let him ride me into battle, I assented. It feels good to stretch my wings.’
Aluem shook his head. ‘Beware, Parsha, for this war is not like other mortal affairs. The Crow King is Ilidreth, and far fallen.’
‘Aye, that I knew. I am not so removed from the mundane world as unicorns oft-times attempt to be. But you, Aluem of the Crystal Vale, are either very brave or very foolish. Perhaps the former secures the latter. Never mind. Shall we remain friends in this engagement?’
Aluem nodded. ‘Our companions are allies, so I recommend that course.’
The dragon gave his own, great nod. ‘Excellent. So it shall be.’ The dragon turned his head toward Nox, and seemed to communicate with him, but Gwyn heard none of his words, cut off from the dragon’s mind.
“I gather he’s here to stay?” whispered Gwyn.
Aluem nodded. ‘Aye, my kin and king. He will stay. But do not rejoice overmuch, for two reasons: first, the Crow King will seek his own ally of the winged beasts, and some can be bought if not chained. Second, and this is of immense importance: Parsha is a dragon poet, but that does not make him any good. Do not ask him to recite a single verse. Not even once. Am I clear, young Gwynter?’
Gwyn nodded vehemently.
‘Good. One wrong phrase from his fanged snout, and our armies may well lose this war at once.’
Gwyn’s eyes widened, and he wondered if the dragon could be so bad as that, or if Aluem—honest, worthy friend—was perhaps exaggerating. Gwyn decided it might be best if he never found out which.
Chapter 5
A fitful night on the plains compelled Gwyn from his bedroll early. Lawen sat awake on his own bedroll, perhaps fearing Gwyn would wander off on his own and get himself killed.
But Gwyn wasn’t foolish enough to seek solitude so close to Bayton. Yesterday’s incident with the hungry bowman had been a striking reminder of the hostility festering there. Though the Crow King had locked more people than mage sympathizers in Bayton for the past fifteen months, for those loyal to the Crow Crown, Gwyn’s forces made a steady target to blame.
Bayton was a dangerous place no matter whose side you stood on, and Gwyn well knew it.
He strode from his tent, Lawen at his side. A mist hovered on the plains, forming shades and shadows to taunt one’s vision. Kive appeared ahead, so slender and pale, he looked like a phantom of the mists.
“Hello, Shiny. Hello, Hawk.”
“How was your night, Kive?” asked Gwyn.
“I said hello to Fairy Wren. She was with Rabbit.”
Gwyn frowned. “How is Rabbit?”
“Still dying,” Kive replied rather cheerily.
It wasn’t true, but Kive didn’t understand fevers, just as he didn’t understand people. He viewed Adesta as a rabbit and claimed the mage lay dying, though it was common for mages to grow sick after they drained their magic reservoirs. “Fairy Wren” was tending to him until the fever broke. Gwyn thought of the girl with a smile; Nathaera ren Lotelon, the disowned daughter of Lord Traycen ren Lotelon, a now-deceased mage once in the Crow King’s service. Nathaera was a peculiar young woman, willing to march with the armies rather than stay at home and sew quilts. Even when Gwyn had insisted that she live with his mother and sisters in a safehouse outside Charquae, she’d refused.
Over a year ago, she had declared feelings of love for Gwyn. He’d never broached the subject since, at first afraid he would hurt her, and after a while, afraid he’d waited too long. Surely, she didn’t entertain the same feelings anymore. By now she’d formed a close connection with Adesta, who had helped her escape to Fraelin two years ago to save Kive’s life. She and Adesta were nearly always together now. Adesta adored her; anyone could see that. His countenance lit up whenever she approached him. That must be why Nathaera stayed with the army. Adesta was here, helping in the war, the man who’d always been there for her, as Gwyn only tried to be.
What Gwyn’s feelings for her might be now, he didn’t ask himself. Why explore them when it was obvious he’d missed his chance? Besides, the war was too important to spare time for his private life. He had no private life now. Everything he was, everything he did, or said, or thought, was published by those around him. He’d become a symbol. A king.
Lawen’s soft voice speared Gwyn’s reverie. “Your thoughts are heavier than the mist. Where are you, Gwynny?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m worried about Adesta. His fever should have broken by now.”
“What about you? Any symptoms?”
“I didn’t tax myself too much. I’m afraid Adesta took the brunt as we withdrew from the blockade.” The world wobbled beneath Gwyn’s feet, but that was normal when he used magery. It would pass. “Should we check in on him?”
Lawen searched his face. “Certainly. Nathaera would enjoy seeing us. I’m confident she has much to say.” He clapped Kive on the shoulder. “What say you, my good man? Shall you lead us through this unsavory mist to yon maiden?”
Kive stared at Lawen.
Gwyn smiled. “Take us to Fairy Wren, Kive. Please.”
“Oh!” Kive danced toward the northerly tents. “Oh, yes. Fairy Wren. This way, Shiny. This way, Hawk. Fairy Wren is cooking Rabbit.”
The brothers chuckled. Kive’s world looked vastly different from theirs, and they welcomed the distraction it carried.
Mist pulled at Gwyn’s feet as he moved forward, hair damp, cloak sodden. Soon he reached the tent where Adesta lodged. It was ornate compared to the surrounding tents, commissioned from Fraelin, where fashions were extravagant. The exterior was made of lavish patterns and threaded in silver, while the interior stood plush and warm, full of rugs and pillows, lamps, and incense.
Kive pranced inside ahead of the brothers. Adesta lay across an imported chaise lounge, pale and perspiring. Nathaera knelt before him, a cloth dripping in one hand, paused mid-motion, green-blue eyes fixed on Gwyn. “Sire!” She tossed the dripping cloth aside, sprang to her feet, and curtsied low. Her golden hair bobbed along with her, then settled against her homespun dress of dull gray. Despite the plainness of her garb, the lady was no less fair than she’d been as a noblewoman. Indeed, against the gray, her eyes glowed brighter, cheeks pinker, and her slight, lithe frame appeared more graceful.
Gwyn flushed. “There is no need for such formalities among friends, Nathaera. I only came to see how Adesta is faring.”
“Ah. Right. Of course.” She bit her lip and turned her back on Gwyn to face the lounge. “He’s still fevered, but I think it will pass soon. He strained himself a little too much. I suspect he was trying to take the brunt of the assault against Corvus. That sounds like him.”
Gwyn came closer. “It certainly does.” He towered more than a foot above her, and she glanced up at him with her wide, friendly smile.
“How are you, Gwyn?” she whispered.
Gwyn caught her infectious smile. “A little tired, but otherwise I’m well. And you?”
“Oh, well enough, I suppose. Except I do long for a decent bath now and then. Creek-bathing in the winter is utter rubbish and hauling water in to boil just takes so long. We need proper bath tents, as the Crow King’s got.”
“Shall we borrow some of his?” asked Lawen, approaching.
“His rats?” asked Kive as he leaned over the back of the chaise lounge to finger Adesta’s nose. “Rabbit. Twitch. Twitch, Rabbit.”
Adesta’s nose obediently twitched.
Gwyn chuckled. “Leave him alone, Kive. Rabbit is sleeping.”
“Sleeeep, Rabbit,” Kive whispered in his drawling tones.
“That’s probably good for him,” Nathaera said. “
His slumber is fitful. Perhaps Kive’s command will give him a deeper sleep to fight that fever. Well done, Kive.”
“Thank you, Fairy Wren,” replied the fallen fae, still fingering Adesta’s nose. “Rabbit is sleeping.”
“I’d like very much to borrow a lot of the Crow King’s goods,” said Nathaera. “But we can’t get that close. Even the dragon won’t easily break his magical barriers. Neither you nor Adesta has the strength to keep pulling the stunt you did yesterday.”
The bleakness of his situation closed in again around Gwyn like giant hands wrapping around his soul, squeezing. His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “Yet we can only press on. Nox has done us a great service, and I’ll not waste the hope it provides, even should that hope be a sliver.”
“I wouldn’t call a dragon a sliver,” said Lawen.
Nathaera nodded, hands on her hips. “Nor I, even should he look like one—which this one doesn’t. Dragons are temperamental, by all reports.”
“Parsha seems nice,” Gwyn said.
“Is the giant lizard staying?” asked Kive, looking up from his slumbering prey.
“For now, yes.”
“Will I eat him?”
Gwyn snorted. “I’d not try, Kive.”
“Of course not, Shiny. Shinies don’t eat lizards. Kives do. And I’m Kive. Will I eat him?”
“Don’t,” answered Nathaera. “You’ll likely get a bellyache, like that time you ate that entire bucket of toads. Dreadful.”
“I did not get a bellyache,” Kive shot back. “The toads just didn’t like being eaten.”
“Exactly. Imagine how much worse it would be to have a giant lizard living in your belly, not enjoying having been eaten.”
Kive’s eyes widened, and he draped himself over the lounge and leaned close to Adesta’s face. “Rabbit. Don’t eat giant lizards. It makes them grumpy. Also, don’t eat Fairy Wrens, for it makes them likewise. Shhh. Sleep.”
Gwyn, Lawen, and Nathaera all laughed until their mirth rang hollow.
“What is your next plan?” asked Nathaera.
Gwyn’s chest tightened. “We march for Crowwell.”
Nathaera blinked. “But we don’t have the resources. And it’s the dead of winter.”
“I realize that. But if we delay, our dragon won’t be the only firestorm upon the field. We’ll lose the single advantage we possess.”
“We have two advantages,” Lawen said with a reassuring smile. “Our cause is righteous, and thus we have Afallon’s blessing. That’s something the Crow King forsook in his madness if he ever believed.”
“Three advantages,” said Nathaera, stooping to pick up the cloth she’d abandoned. She straightened and met Gwyn’s eyes. “The Crow King can’t kill you. His magic won’t let him, by the grace of Lady Shalesta of Swan Castle.”
There were crueler fates than death, but Gwyn pushed a smile to his lips and nodded.
Chapter 6
Crowwell, the royal capital of Simaerin, stood 500 miles southward, across countless winter wastes, fallow fields, icy rivers, and legions of the Crow King’s armies. Gwyn ordered Nox to fly ahead on Parsha’s back to scout out the way, while he and the war council dealt with Bayton’s dilemma. The rotund boy eagerly obeyed.
Nox’s friend, Nathael, stayed behind and asked to meet privately with Gwyn on the first gray morning after the army settled outside the port city. Snow fell, dusting the camp in white powder.
Gwyn sat behind his desk within the command tent, aides and generals dismissed, though they had dragged their feet about it. In the tent’s gloom, a single candle bobbed in a stray breeze, and shadows played around it, painting the maps and walls in shades.
Nathael stood before Gwyn: a slight, youthful, comely figure, flaxen hair tied back, clothes plain and patched, but clean. A frown on his lips etched deep lines against his forehead, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know quite how. His hands tugged at the hem of his shirt.
“What did you wish to discuss?” asked Gwyn, smiling to ease the young man’s nerves. It never grew less strange that a man several years his senior felt uncomfortable in his presence.
“Forgive me, sire,” said Nathael, gasping out the words.
“For what?” asked Gwyn, tilting his head to one side.
“I know your generals feel this audience is far above my station. They’re right. Only, I have something to say, to ask, and I can’t be silent any longer.”
Gwyn nodded. “Apparently not. Though I must refute the idea that your station is far beneath mine. I’m human, just like you. I’m Simaeri, just like you. Does that not make us equal under Afallon’s heaven? Say on.”
The lines on Nathael’s face smoothed. His cheeks reddened as his blue eyes shone. “Thank you, sire. It’s this: I have always feared the Crow King. I’ve seen his tyranny from my early youth. While he coddled and bribed nobility, we of the peasant caste were mere cattle to be used as he saw fit. My father died in combat in a war overseas. What the cause was, I hardly know. Something that barely affected affairs in Simaerin. He had no choice. He was a serf. Not a slave, for his skin was fair, but serfs are little better treated—only easier to conceal when they’re dragged from their homes and sent by boats to fight. My mother and I never saw him again. She was with child but starved to death before she gave birth to my little brother or sister. I fled from those who would sell me, and lived on the streets of Charquae, until Nox’s good father helped me shed that life.
“By rights, sire, I’m a runaway slave. By rights, I should be drafted into the Crow King’s army by now, fighting against you. Only divine Afallon’s intervention spared me that dread fate. But though I’ve lived well, learning the trade of a baker, and though I’m skilled in that trade, yet my heart has been troubled by the goings-on within Simaerin. I asked myself how I could live under the banner of an evil man, whose reign is dyed in red and rot. And then I heard about you. At first, your name was merely one more among the Crow King’s lackeys. You were more skilled than most, and more just than most, but still a man of the king, so sworn. Then came the glad news of your lineage. Of your banner. Nox and I both resolved at once to find you and join your cause. Nox is a kind soul, and his heart is pure. He serves you because he believes you’re the rightful king. I don’t.”
Gwyn held Nathael’s eyes steadily. “Why do you serve me?”
“Because, rightful king or otherwise, your cause is just. You promise liberty, for the nobleman and the slave. You promise mercy, for the freeman and the bondsman. You promise Simaerin renewed, cut loose from the chains that have long held her fast to a legacy of murder and deceit. I believe you mean to keep your promises. You could be the illegitimate son of a farmer’s daughter, for all I know—but I would follow you, for you bring hope where I’ve long held fear and hate.
“We well know your character in the streets of Charquae, sire. Even in the Crow King’s service, you enforced discipline and reverence in the troops you commanded. You killed no more than was needful. You heeded the cry of the oppressed. Now you stand to oppose the Crow King, and though your forces are few and your supplies scant, you still stand. Such integrity hasn’t been known in an age, at least.”
Gwyn bowed his head, shoulders tight. Drawing a long breath, he stared at his hands folded against the top of his desk. “You do me too much credit, sir, but I thank you for your faith.” He looked up. “Why do you make this grand speech?”
“I do have a purpose in presenting myself, sire,” Nathael said. “Only let me make my intentions clear: I swear my fealty to you, King Gwynter of Wintervale. My life is yours.”
Gwyn squeezed his palms together. “I accept your fealty, and gladly.”
Nathael smiled, eyes shining brighter. “I am your man, sire, and thus I make one request.”
“What is it?”
“Let me serve as your spy, sire. Nox rides the clouds, but I can play my part upon the ground just as well. My time on the streets has taught me how to blend with the crowds of any city. My ear
s are sharp, my wit sharper still. Let me play the spy, and I will gather whatever information I can glean in Crowwell to aid us.”
Gwyn’s shoulders relaxed. “Let me ask but one question before I grant your request. You’ve seen me ride, I presume.”
“Aye, sire. Often.”
“What do you make of my steed?”
Nathael’s eyes lit up. “‘Tis the fairest creature I’ve ever beheld. I’d never thought to see a unicorn in my life, sire.”
Gwyn’s smile deepened. “Your request, Nathael, is granted. And I thank you for your willingness. You may go with my trust and—” he rose and grabbed a leather purse lying upon the edge of the desk, “—take this. It isn’t much, but it will help you along your journey. Also, take one of the officer’s horses. The fastest.” He tossed the purse. Nathael caught it deftly.
“Thank you, sire.” The young man bowed low.
“Find a priest called Rindermarr Lorric. He can give you shelter while you stay in Crowwell. May Afallon ride with you, Captain.”
Nathael blinked, then grinned. “And with you, Your Majesty.” He bowed and strode from the tent; the proudest promoted serf’s son Gwyn had ever beheld.
Lawen appeared at the entrance in the next heartbeat. “Are you well?”
Gwyn nodded and bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes. “Were all men as noble-hearted as he, this world would become Afallon’s heaven.”
A solitary, armored figure rode into Gwyn’s camp as night settled dark and grim over the plains. Bened Arnnor, a once-decorated knight in the Crow King’s army, presented himself to Gwyn and fell to one knee.
“I swear unwavering fealty to the King of Wintervale, rightful heir of Simaerin,” Bened declared before Gwyn’s officers and aides within the council tent. “My sword, my cunning, and my heart belong to you, sire.”
Gwyn considered the kneeling man for a long moment from his chair atop a makeshift dais. Bened Arnnor was a man in his prime, with dark hair and dark eyes, an aristocratic nose, and a well-muscled, tall frame. “What of your oath of service to the Crow King, Sir Bened?”
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