by Jeff Wheeler
Sinia stared at her, her eyes filling with tears. She nodded, but it was not a pleased look. It was not a delighted look. It was full of sadness, which made Trynne feel even worse. What did it mean?
“Mother?” she gasped in a questioning tone.
Sinia shook her head and turned around. “I cannot tell you what I’ve seen.” When she looked back at her, her expression was full of resolve.
There was that scraping feeling again, that sensation of something ineffable happening. It rumbled through Trynne like an earthquake. Sinia’s eyes widened with surprise. She blinked a few times, the faraway look of a vision.
“We must go to Kingfountain,” Sinia said, taking Trynne’s hand firmly. “A Wizr will arrive from Chandigarl. I saw both of us in the throne room with your father and the king. We must leave at once; the city is in peril!”
For her mother to leave Brythonica unprotected was a sign the peril was real. When Sinia did leave to consult with the king, which happened more and more often lately, Trynne was always put in charge of the duchy. This time, mother and daughter traveled together, and it was Sinia’s power that brought them through the fountain waters. Trynne’s brother, Gannon, was still in Ploemeur, of course, so there was an heir.
Being back at Kingfountain filled Trynne with excitement, but she was also worried about what they would face. A Wizr from Chandigarl? Such a thing had never happened before.
They walked hurriedly to the throne room, where the guards admitted them without comment. The king and queen were at the Ring Table, conferring with Owen and some of the other lords of the realm.
“Lady Sinia?” King Drew asked with confusion, seeing her there.
Owen jerked his head up and started to walk around the huge table toward them.
“What is it?”
“He’s coming,” Sinia said breathlessly, an edge of panic in her voice.
The torchlight in the great hall flickered. A darkness seemed to descend, like a shadow blocking out the sun. Shivers shot down Trynne’s arms. The mood in the chamber shifted palpably.
A man suddenly appeared out of the aether.
What struck Trynne first was the power of his presence. She could feel the Fountain magic emanating off him in waves, both from his person and the magic artifacts he carried. He was nearly seven feet tall, but very slender and tapered. His long, white-blond hair fell past his chest, and his intricately designed tunic was held closed by a spider-shaped brooch embedded with a jewel that sizzled with energy. He gripped a staff that was as tall as his chin and ended in a sphere wreathed in roots. The man’s hand gripped just beneath the ball, drawing attention to a huge turquoise ring on his middle finger. The scarab-shaped bauble dominated his hand, almost like an insect attached to him. His eyes were blue and possessed a strange glow. His skin was quite pale, but he was muscled and fit and wore a curved sword at his hip, suspended by a leather belt with the raven symbol on it. The tunic fell well past his knees and was covered by a burgundy velvet jacket that collected on the floor around him like a cloak.
“My name is Rucrius,” the man said, his accent as impeccable as any native of Ceredigion.
King Drew rose from his chair at the Ring Table, planting his hands on the surface of the polished wood. “We are honored by your visit, Lord Rucrius,” he said, his voice firm despite the shock of the man’s unexpected appearance.
“We have no such titles in my realm,” Rucrius said dismissively. “All pay homage to the Overking. I come at the behest of Gahalatine, my master. Long have our people watched the squabble and bloodshed of these lands. You claw and fight over titles and land like children over sweets. You murder and poison and defame. But you, boy king, have managed to unite the realms, a feat that has not been done in centuries. Still, it will not last. You are ill-tempered children in need of a master.” His voice lowered into a threatening tone. “My master bade me to tell you that he is coming. He challenges you for the right to wear the hollow crown. We will prove our cause with our blades and with our wills. Willingly have the rulers of Chandigarl knelt to their new sovereign. And so will you kneel as well. Gahalatine will conquer these lands and place true men and women as his vassals to rule in his name. You have little time to prepare for him. Behold, he comes swiftly.”
The room was quiet save for the mutter from the torches.
Rucrius straightened even more, bringing up his chin slightly. “In these petulant lands, honor is broken on a whim. My master speaks only the truth. To prove my words, I give you two signs. The game you have played for centuries to teach your rulers humility and discipline has ended.” Rucrius lifted his staff and then thumped it on the tiles. There was a cracking noise, louder than thunder, and Trynne felt as if someone had stabbed her. The tile beneath the staff was broken, but something told her that wasn’t all . . . She had the notion that the ancient Wizr set hidden in the fountain waters had been broken in two.
“Second,” Rucrius said forcefully, “your predecessor defied the rites of sanctuary. They will no longer protect you from the Deep Fathoms. Anemoi!”
It was a word of power. Trynne felt it jar her soul, and suddenly a keening wind began to howl outside the palace.
Ordinary people have an unlimited capacity for doing harm. What they do not see is they also have an unlimited power for doing good. In my long, weary travels, I have often seen the Powers choose the most undeserving of wretches for works that profit the most people. A peasant girl to fight a war. A child too timid to speak. A foundling abandoned at a sanctuary. In this way, the noble and powerful are forced to eat the sour crust of humility. The only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing.
Myrddin
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Flooding of Kingfountain
The keening wind outside the castle turned into a hurricane. Screams began to echo through the palace. The Wizr of Chandigarl stood there smugly, absorbing the chaos his spell had caused. There was the clatter and smash of crockery breaking. The king’s herald, a man named Silas Meeks, burst into the throne room.
“My lord!” he shouted with raw terror in his eyes. “The river is turning!”
“The river?” Genevieve gasped.
“Aye, my lady! The wind is blowing the river backward. The falls have stopped!”
It was unimaginable. All of her life, Trynne had seen the mighty waterfall thundering next to the palace. With a word of power, the Wizr had turned its course.
“Lord Owen, arrest him!” King Drew said with a firm, angry voice. The king’s eyes were like daggers. He stood, planting his fists on the Ring Table, and glared at the intruder.
Trynne’s heart leaped within her bosom, driven to a frantic pace by utter fear. Was this the moment that her mother had seen in her vision? Wasn’t there supposed to be a battle? The fury of the wind shrieked through the castle like a host of untamed spirits. Owen drew his sword and advanced on the Wizr.
Rucrius cast a disdainful look at him. The scarab-like ring on his finger pulsed and glowed blue.
“I will stay until my message is fulfilled,” Rucrius said archly.
“Then you will stay in the dungeon,” Owen pronounced. He gestured for Kevan, and the two men advanced. Suddenly Kevan went rigid and froze in place, his eyes wide with panic. He couldn’t move.
The Wizr’s lip curled into a sneer. But Owen continued to approach him.
The ring on the Wizr’s hand flashed a second time. Trynne felt the rush of Fountain magic as it tried to engulf her father, but it passed harmlessly away from him. Owen increased his pace and lifted his sword.
“Kneel!” the Wizr commanded, stretching out his staff. The orb nested in the top sparked to life, projecting a blinding shaft of light. There were cries of terror, and the people in the room cringed. Trynne watched through the sun-bright radiance as her father rushed the Wizr and swung the sword around in an arc, aiming for the Wizr’s neck.
At the last moment, Rucrius raised the staff and caught the blow. The sword bit into the wood with
the jarring sound of steel on stone. The blow rocked the Wizr back on his heels and gouged a chunk out of his staff. His eyes widened with sudden panic as he realized his magic did not and would not work on Owen Kiskaddon.
Then he vanished before Owen could strike at him a second time.
Trynne felt her mother grasp her hand.
“Protect the king!” Sinia called out to her husband. Then she invoked her magic and yanked Trynne with her down a ley line.
They emerged in an instant on the island of the sanctuary of Our Lady. The hurricane was hitting the structure full force. Debris from the city gusted past them—wooden shingles, laundry linens, pennants, and shards of broken crockery. They stood at the rear of the sanctuary, near the docks, and Trynne gaped when she saw that the herald’s words were true.
The river had turned on its back and lifted like a raging beast.
It was shocking to behold: the mighty river was being blasted back by the fierce winds. It was like staring into the maw of some otherworldly giant, its teeth of foam gnashing and biting to devour the city below. The water was expanding and filling like a giant lake above the city. Her knees knocked together as she took in the impossible scene. With a word, Rucrius had turned her world upside down.
“I need to release the spell before more water builds up,” Sinia shouted over the wind. “Or the city will be flooded!”
“We need to evacuate the bridges and the island!” Trynne retorted, still clinging to her mother’s hand.
“There is no time. I won’t be able to hold the water for long. Stand by me in case the Wizr tries to stop me. His magic won’t work with you near me. I need you to raise a shield.”
“A shield?” Trynne gasped.
“Yes! Now! Siopa! Pephimoso!” Sinia cried out, her hands held forward, fingers splayed, her head bowed.
At her mother’s words, the gale blowing at the river was silenced.
When the wall of water came rushing down the dry riverbed to flood Kingfountain, mother and daughter stood to face it. Sinia’s eyes were fierce and determined, her fingers tensed and hooked like talons.
“The shield!” she reminded her daughter.
“Aspis!” Trynne stammered. Her well of power was still so depleted from the trials she’d faced in Brugia that she knew it would not last very long. Magic gushed out of her, as if she were a broken jar spilling water. Then she felt her mother’s magic weave inside hers, filling up her stores so that the supply wouldn’t be emptied. It would drain her mother twice as fast, but she felt the lake of her mother’s power compared to the pond of her own.
The avalanche of the river rushed toward them, and Sinia began a complex weaving with her arms. Some of the waters diverted and struck the docks at the shores of the palace, crushing them into splinters. Another wedge of water was sent smashing into the trees on the far bank. But the brunt of the flood Sinia summoned toward where they were both standing, and Trynne started to scream with terror as it rushed them.
At first she thought that she was going to drown as the river flooded the island sanctuary. But it smashed into Trynne’s shield instead. She had always wondered what it would feel like to be inside a waterfall—and now she knew. It was all surging foam and chaos and raw, menacing power. The noise was louder than the thunder of a thousand horses. Her store of magic would have been depleted in less than ten seconds if her mother hadn’t latched her power to Trynne’s.
In the maelstrom of the flood, Trynne sensed her mother’s spells at work. Somehow the sanctuary itself was swallowing the river. The force of it made Trynne’s knees buckle, and she felt blackness tear away at the edges of her vision. Her shield started to crack.
Hold it longer! Sinia pleaded with her thoughts.
I can’t!
Trynne was sinking, starting to black out. The strain against her mind and her power was agonizing. She would have collapsed earlier if her mother hadn’t been sustaining her. The stress and fear of failure kept her struggling.
It’s almost over, it’s almost over! Hold on!
Trynne could see nothing through the waves. She could hear nothing but the roar of the waters. She couldn’t hold the shield. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Her strength was failing.
Another thought joined theirs.
Aspis!
Suddenly there was a third well of magic. It was strong and determined and supplanted Trynne’s as hers guttered out. She sank to her knees, trying not to vomit, trying not to weep at her failure.
The river melted back into its proper channels. As Trynne lifted her head, she saw the shattered docks on the palace side and the shattered trees on the other. Her shoulders slumped and she started sobbing with relief and shame.
There was a hand at her shoulder, an arm around her back. She thought it was her mother at first, but when she glanced up, she saw it was Morwenna. The shame twisted into despair.
Sinia gasped and also knelt down on the ground.
“Lady Montfort,” Morwenna said with deference and even a touch of reverence. “I’ve never seen . . . never known . . . such power. You saved Kingfountain.”
Trynne squeezed her eyes shut, stifling her sobs and trying to master herself. If she hadn’t expended so much of her power in Brugia, she would have been able to hold the shield easily. Yet the Fountain had bidden her to compete in the Gauntlet. Why? She couldn’t make sense of it—she didn’t want to try. Inside, she felt ruined and stricken with remorse. So many people could have died . . . She didn’t know how she would have borne the grief. And yet she’d followed another oath, hadn’t she? Never refuse to serve when the Fountain calls . . .
So why did she still feel so empty inside?
“Thank you for joining with your power, Morwenna,” Sinia said, clasping her hands.
“What I did was such a little thing,” Morwenna said meekly, “next to what you did. Truly you are Fountain-blessed.”
When Trynne looked up at her mother, she saw the disappointment in her eyes. She would never admit to her displeasure aloud, but she could no longer hide that from her daughter.
King Drew had summoned the members of his council to meet at the Ring Table following the aftermath of Rucrius’s display of magic. Trynne didn’t feel she deserved to be in the room, but she had been asked to stay. Her parents were both there, which was unusual enough. It turned out that Morwenna had brought Fallon to Kingfountain following the Gauntlet of Brugia. They had arrived amidst the commotion. Fallon had attended the meeting to represent his parents, and Morwenna had also been invited to stay. Lord Amrein and the queen rounded out the group.
Trynne wished Myrddin were there as well. She couldn’t help but believe that his presence would have prevented the disaster.
The king sat at the table, strumming his fingers on the polished wood. “My friends, what do you make of this calamity?” he asked in a bewildered tone. “Lady Sinia, if you hadn’t come when you did, all would be in ruin. There would be no city left to save.”
Sinia had been weakened by the ordeal, but she was still strong. “I came because of a vision,” she said. “I saw Trynne and myself holding off the flood. I knew I had to come, my lord.”
“A thousand times thank you,” Drew said. “You are the savior of Kingfountain today. Truly, the Lady incarnate. What was the purpose of this attack?”
“A declaration of war, surely,” Lord Amrein said gruffly.
“Indeed,” replied the queen. “In the olden days, kings would send challengers to issue their threats and warnings. It followed the principles of Virtus.”
“Did it?” Drew challenged. “They nearly drowned the city!”
Trynne’s mother shook her head. “That may not have been Rucrius’s intention.”
“What do you mean, Sinia? Say on?” The king gestured, keenly interested.
“He came here to issue the challenge. His display of magic was intended to show us that he knows more than we do. By stopping the river, he was proving that the protections of our sanctuaries wouldn�
��t protect us from him. Perhaps he wanted us to ask him to release the river tamely. To beg for it.”
The king’s eyes narrowed angrily.
“To force our humility,” Owen said thoughtfully. He took his wife’s hand. Trynne’s heart lifted slightly at the show of affection.
Fallon stopped pacing. “So what I understand is that this Rucrius fellow came and said that this pretend-king Gahalatine would launch an attack, fight all nobly and honorably, and then claim our kingdom fairly? Is that the gist of it? Well, I think it’s a gambit. They want to draw all of our forces away from Kingfountain and then attack it while it’s undefended. Isn’t that what you would do, Lord Owen?”
Trynne wished she had the courage to speak up at that moment. But her self-confidence had been shattered. She felt her magic slowly returning, trickle by trickle, but she didn’t even have the power to get back to Brythonica.
“Fallon could be right,” Owen said, looking concerned. “It could be a diversion. Or perhaps Chandigarl does not operate under the same bans that we do. Sinia’s vision from earlier showed that there was going to be a great battle.”
Fallon’s eyebrows arched with surprise. “What vision?”
“Never mind that,” the king interrupted, waving at him to be still. “Say on, Owen. What did you make of this Wizr?”
Owen rubbed his lip. “He was overconfident, to be sure. When he arrived, he tested each one of us to see which were Fountain-blessed. He was here to issue a challenge, but also to determine our weaknesses. He was clearly surprised that his magic didn’t work on me. I sensed his vulnerability and would have been able to slay him. He knows that now. I don’t think he did before.”
“So we’ve startled him, eh?” Drew said. “He left in a hurry. And we didn’t need to beg him to stop the flood either. This puts our situation in a better light in my eyes. But I’m alarmed that our enemy was able to arrive in the middle of our stronghold without invitation or prevention. Is there no way to lock down these ley lines, Lady Sinia? To prevent others from using them?”
