This time, the sorcery was not spell driven. Alwen required no incantation for spirit-faring, never had. To join another human psyche with her own came as naturally to her as her heartbeat. Gently, she reached into Odwain’s mind.
Alwen closed her eyes to help her focus. She wanted Odwain to dwell on something sweeter, on something hopeful. As she searched his memories, Alwen’s thoughts turned to Eirlys and she wondered. Though she did not know how to breach the veil, Alwen could sense it near. And if the opening to the faerie realm were near, so would Eirlys be.
“She is here,” Odwain rasped in response to her thoughts. “Somewhere. In the meadow, where the veil is thin.”
For a flit, Alwen imagined that she might have the power to find Eirlys despite the barrier. When she opened her eyes it seemed she could see in all directions at once, many perspectives in a single glance. She could see beyond — beyond the world in which she knelt and into the spiritual dominion with which the physical realm coexisted. She could not see Eirlys.
But she could feel her. The warmth of her smile, the smell of her hair, the silk of her skin — every bit of Eirlys existed in that meadow. Alwen’s emotions became physical sensations that swamped her body and flooded her mind. Tides of grief and bliss collided, intermingled, and a bittersweet euphoria took hold. Oh, by the grace of the gods, Alwen could feel Eirlys as if she were folded within her embrace alongside Odwain.
It was then that Alwen realized what was happening. This was a sprit-faring she could never have imagined, a true melding of sentience without physical form. Eirlys was not with them in body, but she was with them in spirit. In a way Alwen could not describe, she could touch her daughter. And through her, so could Odwain.
Rather than create an illusion of contentment by manipulating his thoughts, she would give him something real. Alwen opened her mind and her heart to his, and allowed Odwain to share what she felt as it came to her. Almost instantly, his trembling subsided and his soul stilled.
“Yes, Odwain,” she whispered through her tears. Odwain relaxed in her arms and Alwen let herself revel in the sweetness that was her daughter. “Eirlys is here.”
Twenty-Six
Glain awoke drenched in the cold sweat of panic, the echo of her screams still ringing in her ears. The vision had never seemed more real, nor more near. She clambered
from the bed and rushed to dress, feeling more frantic with each ragged breath. Glain sensed the threat lurking just beyond the shadows, as if nothing more than the thick dark of the night stood between her and the horrors to come.
The Fane was at rest — but not at peace. Something or someone other than Glain skulked the temple passages. Something apart from the deadly pall surrounding Alwen and her ailing child, which was a bodily presence in its own right. No, this was a new haunting. Glain did not need to meet this specter to know how real it was. The harkening of her instincts was enough. She hurried her step. Madoc would know what to do with her foresight, and her fears.
Glain took the service stairs from the kitchens and nearly ran the full length of the annex hall. Low voices wafting from the landing below stopped her short of the main staircase, with the safety of Madoc’s chambers across the divide. Glain shrank against the cold stone of the inner wall, camouflaging herself in the shadows under the steps. If she were found out, all hope would be lost.
The rustle of robes ascending the steps announced her worst suspicions. First Machreth appeared, then Cerrigwen. They hesitated, and Glain strained to hear the muffled words whispered before Machreth turned to make his way down the hallway beyond her — toward the hidden passage at the corridor’s end. Cerrigwen did not follow. Instead, she watched intently as Machreth disappeared into the dusk at the far end of the hall.
Suddenly Cerrigwen spun about and Glain bit her lip to keep herself from shrieking. Cerrigwen’s gaze swept over Glain as she turned, but their eyes did not meet in the shadows. Glain’s body trembled from fear and restraint, waiting for Cerrigwen to fully retreat down the stairs.
Glain held her breath so that she could hear to count Cerrigwen’s steps. Nearly halfway, she figured, nearly past the second-floor landing and safely out of earshot. So intent was Glain on her surveillance she was startled nearly to death when she felt firm fingers grip her elbow. Madoc’s wizened face emerged, wraithlike in the dark.
Madoc cautioned her against a gasp with a shake of his head and a gnarled forefinger to his bearded lips. Dizzied from the shock and shivering in the cold, Glain could not move for fear of fainting. Madoc took her arm and towed her around the corner and through the recessed entry into his rooms. He paused to listen a moment and then carefully pushed the door closed behind them. When at long last the sovereign turned and nodded for her to speak, Glain began to spew.
“Why did you let them pass unchallenged?” she fretted. “What if Machreth has found his way into the labyrinth? Surely had he known you were watching, he would have retreated.”
“Perhaps,” Madoc said. “But only to rise against me another day. I choose the now over the later. No more waiting,” he announced. “I say we let the fates unfold as they will and take destiny as it comes. What little time you would have me glean by skewing his plans will gain us nothing in the end.”
He smiled as if he knew her frustration, her yearning to rail against the injustice. “Much as it grieves you to do so, you must mind my wishes in this. Let it comfort you some to know that wherever else he might prevail, Machreth will never have what he covets most. Oh no.” Madoc chuckled. “I’ll see to that if it’s the last deed of my days.”
Glain shuddered. That Machreth would in fact be Madoc’s end was what she was dreading most, and he knew it.
“It has begun.” It was all she could say. All there was to say.
“You needn’t waste your words on me.” Madoc spoke with tenderness. “I know what monsters you have seen in your dreams.”
But what Glain also feared was what she had not seen in her dreams. And he knew this as well. Madoc took her hands in his and looked at her, and Glain worried he would see the great sadness in her eyes. But she could not tear her gaze from his face. Glain was unaware of her own weeping until he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“A gruesome thing it is to behold the visions, as you have. What will befall us in the next hours is truly unspeakable. But know you this, child. It would have gone all the worse for us had you not had the strength and the good sense to speak of them to me all along.
“Now.” He cleared his throat and released her hands. “Now you must find Alwen and bring her here, to me.”
“I can’t bear to leave you,” she whispered. Agony had robbed her of her full voice. “You’ve no sentry at your door, no guardsman to protect you.”
Madoc looked at her long and hard, without further comment, and then turned toward the doorway in order to usher her out. “Speak to no one unless you must,” he advised. “Be cautious in your movements and let neither your task nor your intent be discovered. We must assume that Machreth has more than a few allies among us.”
Glain waited as Madoc reached for the door pull, feeling both anxious and reluctant. Her palms were damp with tension and worry. “The gates will hold,” she muttered, trying to convince herself. “They must.”
“For a while.” Madoc smiled kindly at her. “But not for long. The veil that hides us from the outside world has already been pierced, and sooner or later Machreth will find his way through the catacombs. My only hope is in completing the rites before he does. You must hurry.”
Madoc yanked open the door, only to find Fergus MacDonagh preparing to knock. “Bah!” he snorted in surprise. “Well, don’t just stand there, man. Come, come.”
Madoc invited him in with a brusque wave of his hand. Fergus gave a slight bow to Madoc as he entered and a polite nod to Glain as she passed. He took his post just inside the door, tightlipped and stern. Glain noted that, despite his ample size and ready stance, Fergus seemed small defense against the eno
rmous loom of this unnatural night. She felt the chill of doom in her bones.
“There you have it, Glain. You see? I have my sentry after all.”
“So it would seem.” Glain was still hesitant to leave. She wished for one last reassurance that she might yet see Madoc again in this life. But before Glain could voice a word, Madoc wagged a finger to shush her.
“You will find Alwen in the meadow. Go quickly,” he said, and closed the door.
* * *
Finn was conflicted as he watched Cerrigwen scurry back up the temple steps. At Cerrigwen’s order, he and Pedr were to stand the midnight gate watch, which was an odd request. And from outside the castle walls rather than inside, which was even odder.
“I can’t imagine what has her spooked,” Pedr grumbled. “There is no safer place than the Fane.”
“Hard to tell with that one.” Finn shrugged. “Though I daresay there’s trouble aplenty to go round tonight.”
Pedr nodded and sighed, clearly saddened at the reminder of his brother’s grief. “I’d be happier at the barracks, with Odwain.” Pedr dismounted at the guardhouse to open the gates. “The general ranks can well enough stand sentry. Why would she demand this of the likes of us?”
“Cerrigwen has her reasons for wanting us here,” Finn said. “And none that needs knowing unless she sees fit to tell us.”
Pedr huffed. He begrudged Cerrigwen her snooty airs. Finn was tolerant, if only for duty’s sake. He would allow that she had been handed a hard lot in life, and the years in exile had not been especially kind to her. Some of that, though, had been of her choosing. Cerrigwen was, by any account, a cold woman who preferred to keep to herself. Even her daughter had hardly touched her heart, which to Finn’s thinking was the worst of Cerrigwen’s failings. He’d done what he could to make things go easier for the girl, but he held little sway with her mother. In all the many years they’d spent together, Cerrigwen had never warmed to him. Not to him or anyone else, except when it suited some selfish purpose.
“I would still like to know what we’re doing out here.” Pedr closed and latched the iron stiles behind them and took his ground in front of the entrance, back to the gates and eyes wide and wary on the White Woods. “Can’t see the trees for the mist,” he muttered.
Finn chuckled. “I’m no happier than you to find myself on the forest side of these walls. The White Woods is an eerie place.”
Knowing that the fog was for their protection did not make the billows and shadows any less unsettling. Nothing and nobody ventured through without permission, nor without intent. Nothing and nobody could, not without considerable might — and powerful magic. That was exactly what made the watch from outside the gate so uncomfortable. And so dangerous.
“Look sharp, lad.” Finn paced the tree line on horseback, scanning the bulwarks for sign of the sentries in the watchtowers at the east and west cornices. “Something’s amiss.”
“That much my own bones are telling me,” Pedr acknowledged.
Finn turned his horse to face the forest. He trained his fiercest gaze upon the dark beyond, watching and waiting. If only he knew for what.
* * *
Sudden, gripping panic jolted Alwen to her senses. A wash of fear had spilled into her grief and now compelled her to her feet. They were vulnerable in the open, and she was needed in the Fane.
“Come, Odwain.” Alwen tried to push him to his knees. “We must go.”
He complied as best he could, unsteady at first but alert to his surroundings. “Aye,” he mumbled. “As if we haven’t troubles enough already.”
Alwen had barely managed to pull him to a stand by the time Glain reached them. The very sight of the girl was unnerving. She had the look of a madwoman, disheveled and wild-eyed, and breathless from running.
“What is it?” Alwen demanded. “What has happened?”
“Machreth has made his move. Very soon now the veil will be breached, and then there will be nothing standing between us and his forces.”
Glain’s words struck Alwen speechless, but Odwain responded on base instinct. He broke for the barracks, tearing through the courtyard at a dead run. His abandon shook Alwen to action. She took after Glain at a quick clip toward the Fane, only to stop short again at the foot of the steps.
“Madoc awaits you in his rooms,” Glain insisted. She was already halfway up. “Why do you wait? There is no time.”
“We have no weapons or armaments here, save our wits,” Alwen thought aloud. “And those are likely to be in short supply when real trouble hits.”
Alwen took a moment to survey the grounds. The yard was barren and the entry wide open. The temple itself had the proper fortifications, but with the exception of the corner towers, the castle’s defense posts were unmanned. “There should be soldiers posted here.”
“An assault on the walls is just the threat for which the Cad Nawdd has been prepared, for generations now,” Glain said. “We can trust the defenses to their training. Come now, Mistress. We must hurry.”
Alwen shook her head and beckoned Glain back. “No doubt they are well trained, but they are untried.”
Glain was reluctant, but she complied. “What would you have me do?”
“Warn Bledig,” Alwen ordered as she brushed past Glain on the steps. “His men have experience the Cad Nawdd lack. And then tell Rhys to send sentries to the temple. Tell him he’s to man the guard himself, if he must.”
Alwen turned at the top to be sure Glain had heard, but the girl was already gone. She, too, felt the urge to hurry. Alwen took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, barely pausing for breath at the top. Before she could reach for the handle on Madoc’s door, it swung open. It was Fergus who greeted her.
“Hurry.” Madoc reached around Fergus’s bulk and pulled her inside, glancing warily up and down the hall before resecuring the latch.
“We are in need of an escort and Fergus here has obliged us.” Madoc beckoned her farther into the room. “Who better, I ask, than a man sworn to your protection as well as mine.”
“Aye.” Alwen nearly smiled with relief.
Madoc turned toward his desk. “Come closer, child, so you may see.”
Alwen followed him to his writing table. Madoc pointed to the recess beneath it, below and beyond where the legs of his chair would fit. “Reach under and feel around.”
Alwen lowered herself to a squat and craned her neck to see. “Where?”
“No, no. Not like that,” he chided. Anxiety and impatience tinged his tone. “Crawl under.”
Alwen shifted forward onto her knees and poked her head under the desk. As she stretched her hand into the darkness, her fingertips brushed against a small ledge deep under the desktop. She stretched a bit farther and felt parchment. Four scrolls in all.
She sat back on her haunches and looked at Madoc. Alwen could guess what the papers were, some of the measure and weight of the secrets they held. “Your last requests?”
“We’ll not bring the scrolls out just yet,” he said. “It is enough that you know where they are. When the time comes, Alwen, I shall need you to honor me. For the time at hand, however, I shall need you to honor your duty.”
Madoc took her arm and helped her to stand and then turned away. Alwen watched with solemn reverence as he donned his robes. He dressed in all the formal adornments of his rank, as if he were preparing to preside over some rite or offer sacrament. She hoped with all of her heart that this was not his end, but she could not ignore her instincts. Madoc was making ready.
“One task remains,” he explained. “Before I face Machreth, I must visit the well. And you, my child, must drink the waters.”
Madoc glanced toward Fergus, whose brawn was barricading the chamber door. “You and he shall see me safely there, and then Fergus shall see you safely back. Many will be called upon to forfeit their hearts and souls this night.” His face furrowed with sorrow as he continued. “Some among us have already been called, I know, but we cannot speak of this no
w. It is not the time.”
Alwen’s heart clenched and her eyes swelled with tears. Of course he knew what had become of Eirlys and what that loss had cost her. It was she who had been the last to see.
Alwen lifted her gaze to meet Madoc’s. “As you say, Sovereign.”
She hoped her voice carried the resolve she intended to convey. Madoc took her elbow and nudged her toward the door.
Fergus checked the hall to be sure they were alone. He took two torches from the sconces outside Madoc’s rooms and handed one to Alwen. Madoc paused at the vestibule and reached for a staff that leaned against the wall near the door. Alwen had never seen him use it, though she knew it was more to him than just a walking stick.
While Madoc directed Fergus through the catacombs with furtive gestures and hushed commands, Alwen counted their steps and took careful note of every turn in their path. As Madoc had said, there was only one way in, and one way back. It was now up to her to remember.
Twenty-Seven
“Open the gate and let me pass.”
Startled by an unexpected voice in the silence, Finn yanked the bit too hard. His horse reared and scuttled sideways before circling around. Cerrigwen was at the stile, dressed in her fine Steward’s cloak and sitting astride the silver mare she favored.
“What the devil are you up to?” he snapped. Finn realized he had spoken too harshly, but she had given him a good scare.
“Open the gate,” she demanded. “Be quick.”
Pedr obeyed out of habit, trained to her tone. He opened the gate to allow her to pass, glaring through the iron bars at his father. Finn was still assessing Cerrigwen’s unexpected arrival. As she guided the mare into the open, he glimpsed a knapsack and bedroll slung across the mare’s haunches, hidden for the most part by the folds of her cape. Cerrigwen was prepared to travel.
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