The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  After a brief meeting in Sinarium with Nev, an å Livåri contact, who delivered a pouch full of correspondence to Morgan, he headed south toward the kingdom of Langmerdor. Urlion had lodged for more than a moon cycle in Thraven, and it was there that Vestor Santiman had penned the last entry regarding the king’s progression. If Morgan found nothing there, he had no idea how he would proceed. He had to hope that Lord Grenville and Lady Guin of Bodiaer would remember something of use. They were still among the living, but his lordship was deep in the winter of his life. Who knew what the old earl would be able to recall about Urlion’s stay?

  Yet this worry was not the one that weighed most heavily on the wizard’s mind. Getting at the truth was only the first step. For once Morgan determined who had laid a spell on the High King, whoever it was would be a powerful adversary. Considering the level of magic involved, Morgan felt almost certain it was one of the Tribus. And to confront any of them would require powers he was bound by blood oath not to employ.

  Worse still, if more than one of them were a part of this treason…

  His pony quickened her pace, as if to stir him from his dark thoughts and alert him to the beauty of their surroundings. They were passing now through moss-covered woodlands, still spangled with morning dew and ringing with birdsong. Sunlight streamed through the branches of mammoth chestnut trees, their branches scraping a deep-blue sky feathered with cloud. He’d forgotten Langmerdor’s beauty, her dense forests and undulating hills, the sound of the rushing river swollen from the heavy rains ever accompanying him.

  At the Ortinoch River crossing, he was relieved to find the bridge still intact. The water gushing beneath it threatened to spill over the banks, and further downstream he could see that a wide expanse of the forest floor was flooded. A stand of sallows sprang from the newly formed lake, their slender boughs trailing the pools and reflecting back to the sky.

  The mirrored effect reminded Morgan of the scrying stone, and he wondered if Whit had made landfall on the continent, and if so, if he’d been successful in finding Halla. If not, Morgan would have to go after her himself, once his current charge was met, for he’d assumed responsibility for the girl’s welfare the moment she agreed to travel to Mithralyn.

  “Well,” he murmured to Holly, “if anyone can take care of herself, it’s Halla. She doesn’t lack for spirit, the young lady of Lorendale.”

  And he had faith too in Whit—as long as he didn’t try so hard to do, rather than to be. The lad had mastered scrying in a remarkably short period.

  Still, time was of the essence, and Morgan wondered if they would have enough of it—any of these young people—to become what they must for the sake of the realm. For among the news he had received from Nev in Sinarium were grave tidings from Port Taygh. Lazdac was indeed rising in the Lost Lands—there was now no doubt of it—and the Jagar were rumored to be massing on the border of Olquaria, putting the fortress of Nalè at risk. Northerners were reportedly among the Jagar army, but it hadn’t yet been determined from whence they came or why. The good news, what little of it there was, was that Zlatan Basileus was said to be preparing an offensive strike against them, although the imperial Olquarian emperor’s forces were stretched thin, as he was also occupied with marauding tribes in his northwestern territories.

  Dark days of conflict lay ahead.

  It was hard to believe, here in lovely Langmerdor. They had emerged from the woods and now moved past rolling meadows sown with the last crops of summer. The light was fading; it was time to look for a likely place to stop for the night. The sound of burbling water drew Morgan off the trail into a small copse shielded from any passersby.

  “Well, my girl,” said Morgan, patting Holly’s neck. “This looks to be the place.”

  He saw the pony provisioned, then ate a cold supper, for the night was too warm for a fire.

  Afterward, as he enjoyed a pipe and counted the waking stars, a comet streaked across the sky, trailing a red tail. This sight brought to mind the last time he’d seen one. It was many, many years before, at a time when he thought he’d live a life of acclaim. In those days, he’d been every bit as arrogant as Whit, as confident as Halla, and as curious as Leif.

  What he’d sorely lacked at the time was Maura’s compassion. And it had taken him years to acquire this quality and change the course of his life—which had certainly not gone as he’d planned. Before he’d learned to care about something greater than his own ambitions, he’d had regrets—but no longer. Not now that the work for which he’d truly been destined had begun.

  A star fell, and on a whim, he made a wish.

  “Grant me time,” Morgan whispered, “to see them through.”

  * * *

  By the time Morgan reached Bodiaer Kastel the next day, long shadows lay on the green waters circling the castle’s crenelated towers. He was bone-weary and looking forward to any seat other than his saddle.

  “State your name and business,” demanded the barbican’s guard rudely.

  “Master Morgan. I’m here on the High King’s behalf, and to see old friends. If you would be so good as to announce me to Lord Grenville—”

  “His lordship doesn’t see anyone, friend or foe.”

  “I’m sorry to hear this,” said Morgan amiably. “Then perhaps you can inform Lady Guin that a representative of King Urlion is being kept cooling his heels at her gate?”

  The man grunted, but he raised the gate for the wizard to pass, then sent an underling running to inform the household.

  Morgan had visited this grand old castle only once in the distant past, as an adjunct to Urlion’s father, King Owain. Still, he recalled where the stables lay, and he made his own way there to give instructions for Holly’s care. A young page found him there and escorted him to the reception hall.

  “Her ladyship will join you presently,” said the boy, after he’d poured the wizard a large mug of ale. He held it out uncertainly. “She thought you might prefer this to wine.”

  Morgan judged the boy to be around Leif’s age. “Your mistress is correct,” he replied, accepting the mug gratefully. “I confess I’m thoroughly parched from the road. Are you a family member?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Kelton. Lady Guin is my great-aunt, sir.”

  “I’m no sir, lad. Master Morgan will suffice. Have you only recently come to serve here?”

  “No, master. My parents brought me to Bodiaer when I was four—after the lord and lady lost… that is—I’m their heir.”

  “I see. Well, it’s a fine estate you’ll come into, Kelton. One of the most striking in all the land.”

  “Is it?” The lad didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm.

  Morgan raised a querying brow. “Perhaps you’ve nothing with which to compare it. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you unhappy here?”

  Kelton shrugged. “Unhappy? No, it’s just—well, if you must know the truth, master, it’s terribly dull. My great-uncle is quite old, and…” He trailed off.

  “Not much going on in the way of entertainment?” suggested the wizard. “I imagine you’ve had time to explore this castle inside and out.”

  The lad brightened. “I found some old maps last winter. There’re lots of secret passageways.”

  “Most castles have those,” said Morgan, “although with the moat surrounding Bodiaer, they’d have to be carefully engineered.”

  “They’re rather incredible—tunnels run in all directions under the cellars. And I’ve discovered an underground river that leads all the way to Meregate.”

  “Meregate? But that’s on the east coast, miles away! Have you followed it?”

  “Not all the way,” confessed the boy, “but it’s on the maps, and they haven’t been wrong yet.” He bit his lip. “You won’t give me away to my great-aunt, will you, master? She’s forever fussing over me and worrying I’ll come to harm, especially around water.”r />
  The wizard laid a finger aside his nose. “Lady Guin shall hear no word of it from me.”

  As if on cue, a small, elegant woman entered the hall, attended by several of her women. “No word of what?” she said, stretching her hands toward Morgan.

  “My lady.” The wizard bestowed a kiss on each of them. “Time has touched you but faintly.” In truth, he was surprised to see that her once-black hair was now as white as snow.

  “You always knew the right thing to say—Mortimer, isn’t it?”

  Morgan smiled. “It is, my lady. I’m honored that you remember me.”

  “Remember the great Master Morgan?” she exclaimed with a laugh. “My father used to rave about the wondrous things you could produce from the smoke of your pipe! And I recollect the time you called at Gynd, shortly before Morley and I were wed. Ah, I was young and gay in those days—dancing until dawn, applauding my favorites in the tourneys with no thought for the morrow!” She sighed, and a shadow crossed her face. “How the years have flown. But you haven’t come to our far southern realm to listen to me reminisce. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, master?”

  “It’s a matter of some delicacy, my lady, regarding the High King Urlion’s last stay at Bodiaer.”

  Lady Guin grew very still. “Thank you, Kelton,” she said briskly. “You are free to go.”

  The lad looked as if he wished to stay, but dutifully left the hall. With a nod from Lady Guin, her ladies followed him.

  Lady Guin took Morgan’s arm and drew him to a chair before settling across from him. “I hope our great-nephew kept you entertained while you were waiting?”

  “The lad is a credit to your house, my lady.”

  Lady Guin’s polite smile faded. “Kelton is all that is left of our house. It’s for this reason that I must make my lord Grenville’s excuses. The loss of our only child hurt him deeply. He has taken no pleasure in life ever since.”

  “I’m sorry to learn this. I don’t believe I ever met your daughter, my lady.”

  “As sweet a maid as has walked this earth, our Georgiana, and graced with uncommon beauty. Perhaps it was the latter that prompted the jealous fates to take her from us.” She turned to the arched windows standing wide to admit the sea air. “Forgive me, Master Morgan. I don’t wish to burden you with long-ago woes.”

  “It’s no burden to hear a mother speak of the love she bears for her child. It’s natural that your grief should linger.”

  “Do you think so? For a long time, I waited for it to pass. But I came to realize that my grief was all I had left of my dear girl. Now I cling to it as to an old friend. It is the closest I come to comfort.”

  “Did you ever learn what befell her?”

  Lady Guin shook her head. “At first we thought she might have lost her way in the woods. She was forever running off to visit Norna, the old hedgewitch, to help her gather herbs for her potions. But then her veil was found on the banks of the river that feeds the moat. She must have fallen in, but…”

  Lady Guin looked down at her clasped hands.

  “Something makes you doubt this?”

  She met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s just that—you see, one of the servants ran away that very day too. Just vanished without a trace. The girl was like a little sister to Georgiana, and I can’t help but think there was some connection.”

  “I see. Is there anything else you remember that seemed… strange? Forgive me for prying, but it could be important.”

  Lady Guin gave a sad little laugh. “Surely not after all these years.” She raised her chin bravely and folded her hands in her lap. “Now. You say you’re here on the High King’s behalf. What is it that Urlion requires of us?”

  “In truth, King Urlion doesn’t know I’m in Thraven,” Morgan admitted. “Nevertheless, I am here on his behalf. I believe his long illness may be linked to something that happened in the spring of 493.”

  Lady Guin gave him a sharp look. “That was when we lost Georgiana, with the king under our very roof. Urlion was quite taken with her beauty, but my husband was aware of our sovereign’s roving eye and kept her out of the king’s sight as much as was deemed seemly. His Majesty was with us for over a month, and departed the same day we discovered our daughter missing.” Her eyes widened. “I can assure you he was in good health at the time.”

  “No blame has been assigned to you or your household, my lady,” Morgan assured her. “Do you remember where Urlion went from here?”

  Lady Guin paused to consider this. “As I recall,” she replied slowly, “he rode east from here to investigate reports of a Helgrin raid. We were still in a state of shock over our loss, Lord Grenville and I, and barely remarked his leave-taking.”

  “I remember hearing reports of the raid. Wasn’t it at Gravenstowe?”

  Lady Guin shook her head. “The Helgrins attempted to land there, but a storm came up, blowing their longboats east to Meregate. They came ashore there instead. For months afterward, we kept watchfires at the ready all along the coast.” Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “Forgive me,” she murmured, drawing out her kerchief.

  Morgan set his glass aside, then rose. “It is I who should apologize. It was thoughtless of me to stir such unhappy memories. Shall I send for your ladies?”

  “In a moment, perhaps.” Lady Guin drew a steadying breath. “I’d like to help you, if I can.”

  “I don’t wish to trouble you further, my lady,” said the wizard. “Perhaps I might spend a bit of time in the company of young Kelton tomorrow before I go on my way? He seems quite enthusiastic about the castle, and I could do with some bright young company.”

  If Lady Guin was surprised by his request, she hid it well. “There’s no need to hurry, master. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I’ll go now to tell Kelton, if you’ll excuse me. He’ll be very pleased, I’m sure.”

  Left alone in the hall, the wizard went to the open window and gazed out over the moat, gathering his thoughts. The pieces of the puzzle were, at long last, falling into place. If his instincts proved right, he was on the verge of uncovering the truth he’d long been seeking.

  Chapter 37

  It took the wizard three weeks of unrelenting travel to make his way back to the Tor of Brenhinoedd and into the capital. And from the moment he entered the royal wing of the castle, he sensed something was amiss. The corridor leading to Urlion’s private chambers was unguarded, and when Morgan scratched on the majestic doors, a frail voice bid him enter.

  Urlion’s gaunt face greeted him, as white as the snowy pillow against which he lay.

  Morgan knelt at his bedside. “Are you in pain, sire? Why are you alone? Where are your attendants, your guards? Where is Maura?”

  Urlion waved a dismissive hand. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday. The rest have left me to die,” he wheezed. “Even my Tribus hardly bothers with me these days. Would that you had not lost your place on the council all those years ago, Morgan. I can always trust you, more than any of the others.” He took a small sip from the glass the wizard held to his lips, then turned his head away.

  “Your Majesty, let me send for your physiker.”

  Urlion managed a derisive snort before a fit of coughing shook him. “Not Tergin,” he protested, when he had breath to speak. “I want nothing from him, or anyone. What good is life, when one can’t recall all that transpired in it?”

  Hearing the king’s despair, Morgan knew he must speak. “I think I’ve learned the reason why you can’t remember, sire.”

  Urlion reached out a trembling hand to grasp the wizard’s arm. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice regaining some of its strength.

  “I believe, sire, that you have been placed under a spell.”

  “A spell?” Urlion fell back against the pillows. “A spell? Cast by whom?”

  “You’re the only one who can tell me this, my lo
rd.”

  “You hesitate to speak your mind.” Urlion’s grip tightened. “I command you—tell me all you know! Perhaps once you do, that which I’ve been striving to remember all these long years will cross the threshold of my memory.” Sweat streamed down the king’s haggard face.

  “Your Majesty,” said the wizard, “I fear the spell is so powerful, breaking it could cost you your life.”

  “I would give it to know.” Urlion’s nails sank deep into the wizard’s flesh. “Tell me!”

  Despite the pain, Morgan did not pull away. “I believe it has something to do with a girl whom you met at Bodiaer Kastel.”

  Urlion’s brow furrowed. “A girl?” Suddenly he spasmed, his spine arching so sharply it lifted him off the bed.

  “My lord!” Morgan seized the king’s shoulders in an attempt to still the fit.

  But the High King continued to writhe in his grip. “Yes!” he cried. “Morgan! The girl—I remember! I took her—I took her…”

  Morgan tightened his hold on Urlion. “My lord. The strain of this memory cannot serve you!”

  “I remember!” The king’s harsh voice rang with triumph. “At last, thank the gods, I remember!”

  His eyes held a light that had not been there a moment before. But in breaking through the spell, he had not defeated it. He was dripping with sweat, and his teeth chattered as he forced his words out in short, anguished bursts.

  “She refused me… but so maddened was I with desire, I abducted her in the dark of night… then bound her to me before the gods. I wed her in secret, in a temple before the Elementa. She was… so beautiful…”

  Tears mingled with sweat in the hollows of his haggard face. “I was… besotted—you must understand—charged with a lust I had never… never known before or since. And I was angry over the foul rumor… that my seed was cursed. I didn’t tell Grenville what I had done—I figured I would wait until I got her with child… so that he could raise no objections… I used one of Bodiaer’s secret passages to go to her after all were asleep, and I bedded her relentlessly… sometimes I took her three times in a night. I could see she was… in pain… but I couldn’t… help myself.”