“Majesty, where is Arianwen?”
Kovien stopped pacing and glanced behind him at Bened Arnnor. “You are very free with my door, Sir Knight. Where is your reverence?”
Bened stood firm, arms planted at his sides, eyes dark and furious. “Where is she, sire?”
“Gone, Bened. Gone. Fled. The Fiend seeks her.”
The knight’s eyes widened. “Fled? How?”
“You recall the boy who broke into her room? The one sent by the dragon Demréal? Likely he brought a means of escape with him. I had suspected it at first, but she made no move for so long…” Kovien sighed and rested his fingers against his forehead. “It matters not. The Fiend shall find her, or he won’t. Gwynter is on his way here. He rides ever nearer on the back of Aluem.”
“So, the brat lived? Does he think to claim Arianwen for himself?” Bened gritted his teeth. “He shan’t have her.”
“No,” snapped Kovien. “He shan’t. Nor shall you, Sir Knight, nor any other human creature. You think to claim such a Being for yourself? To cage such beauty? You think yourself equal? Ha!” He threw his head back and laughed. “Fool! Fool! Human fool!” He whirled toward Bened and flung his hand before him. “Begone from my sight, filth. Any who defy me, any at all, shall meet such an end as you cannot fathom!”
Bened crashed to his knees. “Forgive me, sire! My king!” He dove forward to prostrate himself against the floor. “I would never defy you.”
“Silence.” Kovien stepped forward and kicked Bened’s head with his boot. The knight grunted but remained still. “That is better, much better. Another single moment of defiance, a single flash of rebellion, Sir Knight, and your life shall be forfeit. Not your soul, mind you. That remains mine forever. Do not forget it. You are mine.”
“Yes, my king.”
“I said silence.”
Bened hardly breathed.
Kovien stooped and caught Bened’s hair to tilt his head up until their gazes met. “Gwynter doesn’t want your maiden fair. He has one already. A pretty creature you’ve met before, I believe. Lady Nathaera? Yes. She. Go, Bened Arnnor, and slay that pretty creature. Bring her head to me, so I may present Gwynter with a last gift before his execution. Hurry!” He released Bened’s head so fast, the knight’s face slammed against the floor, but he made no sound. He climbed to his feet, nose bleeding; bowed low, and retreated.
The door snicked shut.
Kovien moaned. “Oh, Gwynter. You know not the struggles of a king, or you would not be so eager to play this thankless role.”
Chapter 37
Kellion lay in ruins.
The outer wall had been reduced to shattered stone and charred wood. The buildings within hunched, smoke-scarred and broken. Half the city had been obliterated, save for a dark mark against the earth and bones, countless bones, littering the ground.
Aluem wouldn’t approach the city’s remains. Gwyn dismounted and picked his way over the crumbled wall to survey the dread work. Kive followed, somber and silent.
Gwyn clutched his sword, a sound like drums pounding through his ears. “Is this the Crow King’s idea of justice? The massacre of any who would view the world differently than he?”
Aluem’s voice drifted from afar off. ‘This is the work of a black unicorn, Gwynter. The Fiend did this.’
“Nay,” said Gwynter in a low whisper. “This is the work of a coward.” He sought the southern horizon. “A coward!”
A breeze caught his hair and pulled, and cold laughter laced the wind. Kive moaned.
Dropping his eyes, Gwyn discovered the skeleton of a child near his feet. Kneeling, he inhaled to hold back his emotions. “Why must he destroy children?” He stretched out a hand but couldn’t bring himself to touch the grinning skull. Rising, he again surveyed the site of Kellion. A city, one of few, who had openly opposed the Crow King. One of those loyal to Gwynter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I hear your cries from the earth. You will be avenged.”
Gwyn climbed back over the rubble and crossed the sweeping grass to Aluem’s side, near a tall oak tree. Kive haunted his steps like a shadow, head bowed.
Aluem met Gwyn’s gaze.
“I had to see.”
‘I know.’
Gwyn and Kive mounted and rode around the husk of Kellion to race on toward Crowwell. Gwyn’s mind flickered with memories of what he’d just seen. He’d ridden through that thriving city several times while he served in the Crow King’s army. It had teemed with life, with color and music, laughter, scents, and tastes. Gwyn leaned forward to rest his head against Aluem’s neck and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Kive’s fingers clutching his shirt behind him.
“How can we recover from such horrors, Aluem?”
‘We persevere.’
Gwyn nodded, but his heart twisted. “What voice calls Kovien to commit such sins? Does Hell demand such numbers all at once?”
‘It does not matter what voice your enemy heeds, Gwynter. What matters is which voice you heed. That is all that you must know.’
Gwyn opened his eyes to watch the world flying by. “How much farther?”
‘We shall reach Crowwell on the morrow. Rest, Gwyn, if you can. Do not tap your magic. Find harmony in the Weave and pray to your Afallon. Whatever strength may be had, you must seek.’
He shut his eyes again and delved into himself. His center. His magic. The Weave was there, always: a humming song of life and nature. But now, it frayed at the edges. Not within him, but without. The Weave of the world perished bit by bit under the Crow King’s ceaseless onslaught. Every death counted as a blow against its armor, chinking and cracking here or there.
I won’t let it end like this. Please, Afallon, aid me.
The gates of Crowwell loomed against the predawn gloom. Aluem halted several hundred yards before them, panting, trembling from his strain. ‘The Weave has lost much of its succor. I am spent.’
Gwyn stroked Aluem’s neck. “Rest, my friend.” He slid from the unicorn’s back and leaned against the tree trunk which hid them from view of the city watch. “We must both get some sleep before we enter that place.”
Kive slithered from Aluem’s back and collapsed to his knees. “Shiny, we mustn’t. Mustn’t go on. The Crow is waiting. He is angry.”
Gwyn knelt beside Kive and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hush, my friend. You know I’ll do what must be done, no matter the danger. I am resolved.”
Kive moaned and bowed his head. “Shiny is stubborn.”
“Yes, Kive. Shiny is very stubborn. Please stay with me. Don’t run now. We will face the Crow together.”
Kive folded into himself, burying his face in his knees. “If Shiny says so.”
Aluem lowered himself to the ground and tucked his hind legs beneath him. Gwyn caressed the unicorn’s back, then leaned against him, feeling the rise and fall of the unicorn’s chest.
‘Gwynter, how do you intend to destroy the Crown of the Blighted? It is beyond your power to accomplish. It killed even your god.’
Gwyn studied the swaying branches above him. “Afallon died to transcend mortality. He let himself die, Aluem. Even so, I know the Crown is powerful, far more than I. Perhaps I can’t destroy it. That isn’t my goal. I intend to kill Kovien.”
‘How? He wields the Crown.’
Gwyn shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I only know I must try.”
‘Then why ride ahead of your army? To spare them? What if you should fail?’
“Then another will try in my stead. Perhaps Celin, or Cadogan. Perhaps Towwen Stone, or Adesta Gilhan, or valiant Nox. Maybe the Fraeli will arrive and Fayett will cut the Crow down. I don’t know.”
‘You are a brave man, Gwynter.’
Gwyn lowered his eyes and stared at the ground. Terror surged through his blood, yet anger ran with it, and he could only hope that would make some difference. Survival seemed unlikely, for though the Crow King couldn’t kill him directly, there were other ways to inflict death. He had come so close to dying before. He refl
ected on the blue gem he’d found so long ago in Swan Castle, twice used to spare a life.
It had one use left.
“Aluem, where has Queen Shalesta’s gem gone, do you suppose? I confess it would be a comfort to have when I face the Crow King.”
‘It is very near, Gwynter. Ask Kive.’
Gwyn blinked and glanced toward the fae who rocked back and forth, murmuring fragments of poetry he’d learned from Nathaera.
“Kive?”
The fae glanced up through his matted black tresses. “Yes, Shiny?”
“Do you have the blue gem that belonged to your mother?”
Kive stared at Gwyn, held his gaze, red depths unreadable. He looked away, unanswering.
Gwyn rested his head back and returned to his scrutiny of the branches. “I cannot fathom how it’s all come to this, though I’ve lived through it. Once, I journeyed to Swan Castle to save my brother’s life. Somehow that single action set me on this path. I’ve lost the very soul I wished to save, yet I can’t call this course a waste. It’s so vastly important. But I can hardly believe myself to be a part of it, or why. Surely there is someone better equipped.”
‘Men are not chosen to accomplish great tasks based upon their skills, Gwynter; they are chosen for their hearts. Perhaps there are some who would better plan against the Crow King—but would they endure all that you have, and continue to try? Perhaps not. It does not matter. You are here. You are fighting.’
“I wish I’d used the blue gem to save Lawen again.”
‘It might not have worked twice upon the same soul, Gwynter.’
“I would still liked to have tried.”
Silence wrapped around Gwyn and his companions as the sun appeared on the eastern horizon. Soon he heard Aluem’s deep breathing. Kive continued to murmur poems, altered to include rats and Shinies. Gwyn smiled as he pictured Nathaera’s exasperation, if she were here. He missed her. They’d shared a tender kiss before he departed, and though she wanted to go with him, he’d made her promise to stay behind with the army. To let Adesta protect her. For once she had agreed, perhaps sensing he needed to face Kovien alone.
“Take Kive,” she’d insisted. “Let him protect you.”
“He’s the one who needs protecting.”
“Then he needs to see you take the Crow King down. To be freed from his trauma. Take him. He’s meant to be with you.”
Gwyn had already resolved to do so, though he harbored doubts. He wanted Kive to be healed. To shake off the shackles of his mind and stand tall and kingly as he was born to do. But what if the Crow King’s hold on him remained too great? What if, in the end, Kive was the one who cut Gwyn down? He wasn’t certain that was possible. He didn’t understand quite how the protective spell on the line of Wintervale worked.
“Kive?”
The fae didn’t look at him. “Yes, Shiny?”
“If the Crow King told you to kill me, would you?”
Kive dragged his eyes from the ground. They were wide and clouded. “Shiny?”
“If he commanded you, would you kill Shiny?”
Kive shuddered. “No, Shiny. I cannot kill Shiny. Not Shiny.”
“Are you certain?”
The fae faltered. “No, Shiny. Kive isn’t certain.”
Gwyn nodded. “Thank you for being honest, Kive. I don’t intend to let you hurt me, so don’t fret.”
Kive moaned and turned his head away.
Golden streams of sunlight painted the budding leaves above like delicate filigree. Gwyn smiled again. “A new day dawns. Kive, please stay close by. I must sleep for a few hours at least.”
“I will stay, Shiny. There is nowhere else to go.”
Gwyn closed his eyes and fell straight away into dreams of golden fields and blue skies.
Chapter 38
Kovien summoned the Fiend to him. Reluctantly, the unicorn obeyed, appearing within the empty throne room where the Crow King stood before his throne, his ebony crown clutched in his hands.
“Bened Arnnor has gone to meet the Winter Army and claim the head of Gwynter’s fair maid. Likely that is where Arianwen hides. He will find and return her to Crowwell. You and I must ride out to meet Gwynter in combat. He waits outside the city walls.”
The Fiend pawed the floor.
Kovien turned to face the unicorn, expression cold. “Do not challenge me, O fallen one. You are mine.” He heaved a sigh. “Of late, everyone wishes to challenge me. I grow weary of rebuking those who should be faithful.” He raised his arms and rested the Crown upon his head. “Young Gwynter thinks he stands a chance against me. Even with Aluem as his ally, we are stronger. It is time to crush this hindrance to my plans.”
The Fiend nickered.
Kovien’s eyes narrowed. “There are things far worse than death, or did you forget that? My Crown will show him the truth of the world, and we shall see what becomes of his mind then. Come. We ride.”
He strode across the stone floor and sprang onto the Fiend’s back. “It has been an age since last we took to the field. My hands tremble with anticipation. Have I longed for such an engagement all this time?” He laughed to himself. “Gwynter’s rebellion is almost welcome. It has quickened my goals, hasn’t it? It seems we are indebted to him. We must pay what is due.”
He nudged the Fiend on, and they trotted from the throne room, out into the corridor. Servants and courtiers shrank from the dread pair. Kovien spared them no glance.
The Fiend carried Kovien from the castle proper, down the drawbridge, and across the bailey. The castle gates opened and together they stepped into Crowwell. High noon had sent most citizens inside, for the southern clime turned hot already.
Unattended by the Order of Corvus, he paraded through Crowwell, smiling as he imagined Traycen’s disapproving expression. Too bad the man had died again. Why defend against the rabble? I’ve nothing to fear from these cowed humans.
A swarm of peasants appeared in the street ahead.
“Go no further,” boomed a voice among them.
Kovien arched an eyebrow. “Hail, peasant swine. Do you dare defy your king?”
“Aye,” answered the same booming voice. A burly man of middle years and balding pate shoved his way to the fore.
Kovien smiled at him. “Let me by and I shall forgive your treason. Do otherwise, and my friend shall skewer you each in turn.”
“We know we may likely die,” answered the balding man, “but too long already we’ve cowered before a tyrant, and we would rather die standing tall than bent under the whip of slavery.”
Kovien cocked his head. “Are you not free men? I see no mark of slavery.”
“There is no mark, yet you treat us like cattle to be herded at your whim.”
The king sighed. “I’ve no time for this. Time presses me. Stand aside, or I shall separate you from your legs.”
The man spread his legs wider. “You killed my daughter. Called her a mage and executed her for heresy.”
“Ah, so that is your grievance.” Kovien nodded. “Magic cannot be allowed to run rampant. I have already explained this to you.”
“Yet you and those you deem worthy are allowed to wield it.”
“Yes. Those trained to handle its burden. Those chosen to protect Simaerin from invaders and traitors alike.”
“The Winter King would’ve let her live.”
Kovien smiled. “Indeed, he would. And when the streets were overrun with untrained, undisciplined mages, all fighting for power? When your daughter was murdered by one of those, or if she killed others because she could?”
“I’ll never know if that was possible,” replied the man. “You killed her when she was only an infant.”
Kovien sighed. “This grows wearisome. Stand aside.”
“Nay. We won’t.”
Peasants slipped from shadows and doorways to join those already assembled. The number reached 200, perhaps more.
“Fools,” Kovien murmured, and lifted his hand.
A flash of light lee
ched color from the world around him. The Crown answered his call. When the light retreated and color returned, the street bled. All in his way laid in heaps upon the ground.
“I warned you.”
He rode on, tracking blood far past the site of death. No one else came forth to challenge his rule. Soon he reached the city gates, which creaked open to let him leave.
He rode out of Crowwell. The road before him wended on, open and empty.
“Hail, Winter King! I have come to meet you in combat mortal. Will you not ride forth to greet your adversary?”
He searched the rolling hills. Wind brushed its fingers through the treetops lining either side of the highway. The scent of blossoms wafted up from a nearby orchard. The Crow King waited.
Minutes crawled by before movement appeared ahead of Kovien. He smiled. A single rider approached upon the back of a white unicorn. Kovien nudged the Fiend forward to meet his enemy.
Gwynter had changed since last they met. He sat taller, broader of shoulder, a man now rather than a boy. His eyes shone sharp and hard. He held himself like a king, straight and proud.
“Ah, Gwynter. No wonder there are some who follow you. What a sight you are to behold! Even in tatters, you look a king.”
Gwynter considered him, lightning storming in his eyes.
“Have you nothing to say?” asked Kovien, tilting his head.
“Kovien Crow-King, you have murdered and desecrated Simaerin for too long. Bend the knee to your rightful ruler, or I will cut you down.”
Kovien laughed. “You claim to be my king, Gwynter ren Wintervale?”
“Nay,” said Gwynter. “Your younger brother, Kive of the Ilid, is chosen by his people to rule.”
“Chosen? Do the people now choose their king? Ha! Is this your plan for your own fate, Gwynter? Let the people decide? The weak, foolish, blind masses? So fickle in their feeling, so flimsy in their judgment? I am the king of Ilid, as I am the king of Simaerin. As I shall be the king of Fraelin, and Hesh-Kasal, and all the isles of the sea and what may lie beyond them! But first I shall slay you.”
Gwynter lifted his hands to hold them out at his sides. “Slay me, Kovien. Pierce me through.”
The Complete Duology Page 51
