The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

  Towwen shook his head. “It could be a rogue Ilidreth. Just one. Perhaps he’s fallen?”

  The ground cracked with rumbling thunder, and Towwen and Remien turned to watch as a cavalry of some 300 Ilidreth stormed over the southern hills, Swan banner streaming in the wind.

  The Simaeri commander never called his men to arms. The wagons kept rolling.

  One of the Ilidreth riders broke away from the whole and galloped toward the hillock where Towwen and his band hid.

  With a hammering heart, Towwen drew back his bowstring again. “Come no closer!”

  The rider slowed his pace. “Greetings, friends of the Winter King. We’ve heard of your struggles against the Crow as you’ve sought to steal food for your army. In answer, we bring those same supplies from the central granary in the southern fields of Lemlin, which we recently burned to the ground as tribute to the tyrant king. Come, come! We are bringing your food to your king at Talbethé. Join us and be welcome.”

  Towwen and his men exchanged bewildered glances.

  “How can we trust you?” demanded Remien, ever cautious.

  The Ilidreth smiled. “You can hardly afford not to, Simaeri, though the choice remains yours.”

  “What of the Crowsmen who ride with you?” asked Towwen. “Your prisoners?”

  The Ilidreth smiled as his horse pawed the ground. “Our allies. We are pleased to call General Cadogan ren Silverard such. He and his men have sworn their allegiance to a new king.”

  Towwen raised his eyebrow. “The Crow’s General swears to serve King Gwynter?”

  “Nay,” said the Ilidreth. “His oaths are sworn to High Prince Kive of Shaeswéath. Such an alliance offers certain magical protections against previous oaths. But it is not my place to say more. Our leader, Celin’Laen, would better explain.”

  “Well?” asked Remien, gaze fixed on Towwen.

  There really wasn’t anything to deliberate. Either the Ilidreth told the truth or he didn’t. Towwen was in no position to win free should this be a trick. He shrugged. “I say we accept a free ride to Talbethé.”

  High Lord Celin’Laen could not meet with Towwen Stone until evening fell, and a halt sounded above the forested hills. The wagons made a circle upon the road around the camp of General Cadogan’s men, while the Ilidreth army slept apart without fire or tent to warm them. Perhaps they had no need of such material things.

  The Ilidreth horseman who had called to Towwen’s band earlier now guided him and Remien to the tent of General Cadogan, where the man himself and Celin’Laen waited within.

  The rest of the band stayed in a large tent provided by the Crowsmen, with nothing more than Towwen’s reassurances that all would be well. Towwen prayed his instinct was right on that point.

  The scholar and his warrior friend entered the General’s tent together, and warmth enveloped them. The tent was large, covered in colorful tapestries, lit with six braziers circling the interior. Plush cushions lay about the chamber, along with trays of fruits and a decanter of wine.

  Against several cushions lounged a well-dressed man in his middle years, with sunkissed skin even in midwinter, gray-flecked brunette hair, and dark brown eyes that held secrets: General Cadogan ren Silverard, dragon-slayer, honorable knight, and the Crow King’s finest blade.

  Across from the human sat the Ilidreth who must be Celin’Laen. He wore the motley garb of his people, with pointed ears peeking from under sleek black hair running the length of his spine. He didn’t lounge as Cadogan, but sat upright and rigid, blue eyes searching Towwen and Remien in turn.

  “You are acquainted with the Winter King,” Celin’Laen said. “I scent him upon you, young scholar.”

  Towwen started. How did the Ilidreth know he was a scholar? What had given him away?

  Celin’Laen offered a faint smile. “Your hands are dyed with ink and knowledge fills your eyes. Both are qualities of a bright and inquiring mind.” He glanced again at Remien. “A warrior, parentless but proud. You do not let a dark past shadow a noble future. What are your names?”

  “I am Towwen Stone, and this is my friend and compatriot, Remien Seafarer.”

  Celin’Laen lifted his hand and uncurled his fingers toward Cadogan. “This, as you’ve surmised, is Lord General Cadogan ren Silverard, now sworn to serve the high prince of Ilid. You needn’t suspect him. In the dungeons of Londolin he considered most carefully his options and found his service to the Crow King wanting in honor.”

  Towwen raised his eyebrows. “The dungeons of Londolin?”

  “Yes,” said Celin’Laen. “He was until lately my prisoner there. But just as his heart was turning, we heard the first whispers of Talbethé’s fall and the Crow King’s trickery.”

  Starting, Towwen fisted his hands. “I’ve heard nothing of Talbethé, save Brioc Ffyr’s prediction that the Winter King would try to take it. You know more?”

  “We do,” said the Ilidreth, inclining his head. “The whispers first came from the birds winging southward, and after that, Aluem raced into the Silver City, past the Crow’s watch, and informed me of what had transpired. We know all.”

  “Please tell me.”

  Celin’Laen nodded and motioned to the nearest cushions. “Be seated, Simaeri. Be comfortable.”

  Towwen dropped onto the cushion, eager for news, whether good or ill. His childhood friend and king had truly brought Talbethé to its knees? But what of the Crow King’s trickery? In the end of it all, who had been the victor?

  Remien settled beside Towwen, stiff, brows drawn.

  Celin’Laen began in a low voice. “The Winter King took Talbethé over one week ago. His plan was clever and simple, but the Crow King foresaw trouble and set a trap. It seems he tricked a man named Windsur ren Cloven to activate a spell that stole the lives of most who were within the keep. Gwynter was spared, for he stood upon steps above the Weave’s destructive path—though it is likely he would have lived either way, for his protections are strong. Aluem assured me that Lady Nathaera and High Prince Kive are also alive. Alas, Lawen ren Terare fell upon the field of combat beside Windsur ren Cloven, after which Gwynter succumbed to fever. Also, in the aftermath, Sir Bened Arnnor revealed himself as an agent of the Crow King and fled. Aluem gave chase, but from the sky a winged beast swept down and caught up the knight to carry him away. Aluem said the beast seemed something like a crow, though considerably larger, and made of a dark substance: a tainted creature. It made Aluem ill to be near it.” Celin’Laen shook his head. “This is what we know.”

  Towwen bowed his head. He had known Lawen all his life. The man was noble-hearted, brave, and kind. Gwyn idolized his brother. This was a heavy blow indeed. Would Gwyn recover from such a loss?

  Celin’Laen spoke on. “Before Aluem brought us word of the keep, he went first to the camp of your Winter Army, carrying a missive from Lady Nathaera that the army could march to Talbethé and quarter there for the winter. Once there, they will be warm and well fed, but the supplies within the keep will not hold against the long months ahead. We are bringing more to sustain them, and we also bring men to increase their number. My contingent is 300 strong. Cadogan has enlisted the aid of some fifty soldiers who loyally serve House Silverard rather than the Crow King. The remainder of his army lingers in Londolin under the careful watch of a few of my own forces, while 1,000 of the Crow King’s men camp unwittingly outside the city’s gates and think all is well. They do not know of the secret paths beneath Londolin.

  “From the Vales of Ilid I have been promised another 1,000 warriors in the spring. With their coming, should the Winter Army not lose more of its precious souls, we might stand well against the Crow and his forces. I’ve dispatched messengers to Fraelin as well to enlist their aid. Some alliances remain from bygone days. Of a certainty I know we may count on Keep Montré in the high north. The Fraeli commander there is a friend, and whether the Crane King agrees to fight against the Crow King or not, certainly Duke Dontri shall. That will increase our number by another 500 bowmen
and 300 cavalry.”

  Despite the tragedy of Lawen’s death, Towwen found himself heartened. He didn’t know the present count of the Winter Army, but he could guess it had been greatly reduced since Nox’s report now over a fortnight before. Should the numbers have been reduced to under 1,000 men, that number would soon triple between the Ilidreth and Fraeli allies, with the chance of even more support.

  “Thanks be to Afallon,” breathed Remien. “We might actually survive this.”

  “You think so?” asked Cadogan, speaking for the first time.

  Towwen’s heart skipped a beat. The knight’s voice pealed smooth and commanding, like thunder in a rainstorm.

  “Certainly,” said Remien. “The Order of Corvus is wiped out. The Crow King himself saw to that. Such gives us quite an edge.”

  Cadogan smiled wryly. “You know little of the Crow King if you believe that. You think he sacrificed his mages in some desperate effort to thwart Gwynter’s bold strike? The Order of Corvus has never been more than a front and a tactic. Its presence has long kept the church where it is, for it feared annihilation. But its purpose was always to be as fuel for a fire. What that fire is, I couldn’t say for certain, but the Crow King has sacrificed large groups of mages since he took the throne of Simaerin. I’ve always suspected it feeds his own power—the power to dominate and control an entire kingdom—but that is merely a guess. Lord ren Lotelon knew more.”

  Towwen leaned forward. “Knew, sir?”

  “Aye,” said Cadogan. “The unicorn said King Gwynter killed Traycen ren Lotelon after Lawen fell. Just as well. The mage master was no longer human. I regret far more the loss of Lawen ren Terare. He was a good soldier. A good man. These days, there aren’t too many of his caliber in both regards.”

  Towwen’s eyes narrowed. “You saw the unicorn? You didn’t see a horse instead?”

  Cadogan’s wry smile returned. “Does that baffle you, Master Stone?”

  “I’ true, yes. As far as I knew, only the pure were able.”

  “The pure and the powerful,” said Celin’Laen. “But General Cadogan is not a mage. His only source of magic is the sword he wields—a gift from the Crow King, I suspect. He is not powerful, and so, despite your distrust, Cadogan must therefore stand among the pure. Do you understand now, young scholar? In any force, there will stand together men of good or wicked intent. Can you judge which be which?”

  Towwen considered that, eyes fixed on the general. “Why the change of heart? What made you turn from the Crow King?”

  “I’m not a particularly devout man,” said Cadogan, shrugging. “Faith has done nothing to rid the world of wars. The Crow King promised a solution. I still believe he means to keep his promise. But his methods…” The general sighed. “I’ve grown hard in my years of campaigning. As I spoke with High Lord Celin’Laen, it brought to mind all I’d forgotten of honor and mercy. I’ve spilled ample blood for my country, but the blood I’ve spilled has been that of my countrymen. As I pondered this, the unicorn arrived in Londolin, and Celin’Laen brought me from the dungeons to hear the creature’s words.”

  Cadogan scowled at the rug under his feet. “As I said before, Lawen is—was a man I admired. Even as young as he was, he stood firm upon his principles. He balked against the deeds I performed for the Crow King’s sake. He confronted me and refused to follow my orders until I threatened his younger brother, knowing he cared for none better. And then, as Lawen performed the tasks set before him, he grew ill. His distress awakened his latent magery. His guilt caused it to destroy him. I think some part of him wanted to die. In a way, I sentenced him to death. Perhaps that was where it started. I believe Lawen ren Terare exhumed my buried humanity. In his death, he restored it to life. I fight now against the tyrant king in his name.”

  The general’s words hung in the air. Finally, Towwen nodded. “Stated as a man of honor. I welcome you to the cause, General Cadogan, as I’m certain the Winter King shall. You knew of Lawen’s magery, but you never reported him. Did you know he was the leader of our own order of mages?”

  Cadogan smiled. “He led the Order of Cygnus? That doesn’t surprise me. Are you of the same order?”

  “I am,” said Towwen. “My aspect is words.”

  “Ah, like the printer. Brioc Ffyr, isn’t it?”

  Towwen nodded.

  Cadogan rubbed his chin. “There may come a time for your skill to flood the streets of Crowwell. Words have great strength to influence. Is your preference spoken word or written scrawl?”

  “Scrawling is my mastery,” said Towwen. “I’m no skilled orator.”

  “And can your mage pen be read by all?”

  “All,” said Towwen. “Even a babe in arms.”

  “Very good.” Cadogan turned to Celin’Laen. “We’ll need his skill in Crowwell.”

  “That’s not possible,” Towwen said. “We’ve lost contact with Rindermarr Lorric. There’s no way into the royal city anymore. Brioc meant to take me there, but our access is cut off.”

  “Nonsense. You think I don’t have connections of my own?” asked Cadogan.

  “Loyal subjects to the king?” asked Towwen flatly.

  Cadogan smiled. “I’m well acquainted with those out of favor with the Crow King. More than a few of Crowwell’s citizens are not quite law-abiding. There are many routes into the city used by smugglers.”

  Towwen folded his hands on his lap. “I’ll consider your words, but we must reach Talbethé first and make ourselves useful to the Winter King. His goals will decide my course.”

  Chapter 24

  Sunlight bled beneath Gwyn’s eyes, coaxing him awake. He resisted. Something within whispered to lie still and think as little as possible. Muddled images floated in his mind’s eye, heavy and gray. His breath caught as his heart flinched.

  He must avoid thinking. Mustn’t think. Must only breathe and remain asleep.

  “Gwynter?”

  Nathaera’s voice. Near, worried. Must he answer? Must he stir? Could he not remain in oblivion, where sorrow lapped against the shore of his mind, then pulled back, ebbing, distant?

  “He’s waking,” the girl said, shattering his last effort to climb back into a dreamless pit. His eyes fluttered open. Light stung, harsh, vivid. Alive.

  Why did that wound him?

  “Afallon be praised! You’re awake.” Nathaera’s voice caught on a sob.

  Gwyn sought her against the brightness. There. She stood above the bed where he lay. Her hair framed her face, soft and fair, eyes filled with tears as a smile grew on her lips.

  Those same eyes widened, and she threw out her hands. “Don’t move just yet.”

  He hadn’t considered it.

  “You’re still very weak,” she went on. “Your fever nearly claimed you, Gwyn, but last night you triumphed. After a week of dreadful fighting, you’re on the mend. Thank Afallon.” She sank to her knees beside the bed and caught his hand in her warm fingers.

  Weariness etched dark circles under Nathaera’s eyes and leeched color from her skin. Worry surged through Gwyn like a winter wind, and he opened his mouth to chasten her, but as frigid air filled his lungs, a fit of coughs took him. Harsh, ragged. Searing.

  Nathaera gripped his hand until his fit calmed. “You’re still mending. Don’t strain yourself. Don’t try speaking if it causes you effort.”

  Lawen. Memories swelled up and broke across Gwyn’s mind. Talbethé. Lawen. Dear, strong, noble brother. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut as tears built, choking. They rolled down his cheeks, scorching his eyes, his throat, his chest.

  “Oh, Gwyn. Gwyn,” whispered Nathaera. “I’m sorry. I wish…” But she didn’t finish her wish, for they both knew it was beyond mortal power to fulfill.

  Gwyn stayed still and let his tears fall. Anger had consumed him long enough to kill Traycen. It would no doubt surface again, driving him to face the Crow King. But now, in this sacred, harrowing moment, he mourned for his dearest friend. Lawen was gone now. Until Afallon saw fit to claim Gwyn,
there would be no more summer days with Lawen in the fields of Vinwen. No more hunting trips, or wrestling matches. No more campaigns together. So much would change, and the pain would be ever present, but he must carry on or Lawen’s death would be for naught. Gwyn had brought him here to Talbethé, and here he fell. To turn back now, to lower his banner and concede defeat, would declare Lawen’s sacrifice meaningless.

  He would never allow that.

  “Nathaera,” he whispered, voice ragged.

  “Yes, Gwyn?”

  “We must win. We will win. The Crow King shall fall.”

  “Yes,” she said, tones soothing but firm. “And his fall shall sound with a mighty, thundering crash that will shake the foundations of the world.”

  Two days more brought Gwyn to his unsteady feet. Nathaera supported him as he climbed the stairs to the battlements, where he could watch his haggard army trudge into Talbethé. At first, she’d protested, but studying his face, she knew arguing was a waste of breath.

  “We’ve lost so many,” whispered Nathaera now, sorrow clutching her heart.

  “We will lose more still,” answered Gwyn. “For those who cannot fight, we spill the blood of the brave.”

  She glanced at her king and found his gray eyes steadfast, light-filled. She knew all too well the grief hidden beneath his stoicism, but relief washed through her to see more than the color of his flesh returning: the fire of his soul had reignited. Though the Crow King’s blow had been severe, it hadn’t been fatal.

  She smiled, then dropped her eyes to watch the foot soldiers limping into the bailey of the keep, now cleared of the dead. Kive had buried every deceased man. He hadn’t eaten them—she’d insisted on that. Not one mage or soldier within that courtyard would be disgraced in death, for all had fought valiantly. Kive didn’t argue, though perhaps that was because he preferred live prey.

  The mounds of the fallen spread across the frozen earth surrounding Talbethé. Rocks covered them, for which Kive had searched long. But Lawen had been buried apart from the rest. His lone grave lay within the stand of trees where Gwyn’s party had waited until true night on the evening of their infiltration. There, Nathaera had watched the brothers embrace a final time before they rode to the keep. Last night she’d told Gwyn her choice, and he’d softly thanked her before he fell into silence in an armchair before a blazing fire. Later, he’d asked if she would show him the spot once he’d mustered more strength. She’d agreed.