by Jeff Wheeler
“Halt!”
The voice speared through the air like a thunderclap. It shook the ground and drove all the leaf-armored warriors down on one knee. They stopped midmotion, stepping back from their foes, even though their eyes were full of anger and hate.
Trynne was stunned.
“Rucrius, take me to the hilltop.”
The voice boomed again like thunder. Some of the soldiers covered their ears from the noise of it.
Trynne looked around. She was standing alone amidst a sea of enemies. All the men of Glosstyr around her had perished. There were maybe only six left from the fifty she had seen climbing the hill. Severn was panting for breath, his sword tip facing down but his shield still hunched up on his shoulder, braced for another blow.
The fog had totally cleared, and Trynne could see the battlefield down below. All fighting had ceased. Where was her father?
Then she felt the sizzle of Fountain magic and suddenly five additional men appeared on the hilltop. She recognized Rucrius instantly and was gratified to see his staff still bore the nick-mark from her father’s blade. He looked proud and disdainful. Two of the others were clearly Wizrs and Fountain-blessed. Trynne could feel the waves of power emanating from them, but their magic slipped around her harmlessly. She reached out with her own magic and felt their weaknesses—all three were vulnerable around their necks.
The three Wizrs turned and looked at her as one, and Rucrius’s proud look was replaced with bafflement.
The other two men who had been transported to the hilltop were not Wizrs. One was a warrior wearing different armor from the rest. It was gold rather than green, and he wore a forked helm that covered most of his face save a slit across the eyes and down the nose. The eyes that peered out were brooding and angry, and he held a greatsword instead of a glaive.
The final man wore a crown with a huge blue stone across the center of the forehead. His armor was very different from the others as well. It consisted of a chain hauberk and a fox-fur cloak covering a heavy leather jacket. Three leather thongs hung from around his neck, one with a claw or fang, another with a circular metal device she had never seen before, and the last was slung with a ring.
Trynne shuddered when she looked up at the man’s brooding and handsome face. It was nicked with small scars from a lifetime of fighting. He had a short, close-cropped beard, and his dark hair was a little disheveled and tangled and cropped high on his neck. He had the bearing of a leader and eyes that were so blue they were almost purple. It surprised her how young he was, no more than twenty-five or so—around the same age as his opponent. She felt his Fountain-blessed power raging inside him like an ocean. This was Gahalatine. His presence was unmistakable. But she also sensed that his power did not exceed the combined strength of the Wizrs who were with him. Perhaps that would mean trouble for the young ruler.
“Where is your champion?” Gahalatine asked King Drew. “Where is Owen Kiskaddon?”
She recognized his voice, though it was no longer amplified by magic. He looked stern and serious, as if he expected some sort of duplicity. She was drawn to his face, his bearing. Her insides fluttered with peculiar emotions that rattled her deeply.
“I know not,” King Drew said, lowering his blade. The two rulers faced each other on very unequal terms, but each radiated confidence. “He led a raid in the night.”
Gahalatine pursed his lips. “I know that. But where is he now? I thought to capture him and win his allegiance. He is a great man, worthy of both respect and honor. He vanished from the midst of the raiding party before my Wizrs could capture him. I thought he must have come here to defend you, but here you are, defenseless. I’ve been holding my champion in reserve to face him.” He gestured to the armored man next to him.
“You are Gahalatine?” King Drew asked.
The man nodded. “I am. I sent one of my advisors, Rucrius, to the palace of Kingfountain to issue my warning.” He gestured to the Wizr they had met, but the look he gave Rucrius puzzled and surprised Trynne. Was it disapproval? “I seek to conquer your domain by right of conquest. But there is some trickery afoot.” His eyes burned with anger. He raised a fist into the air and the blue stone on his crown glowed. His voice was broadcast across the fields again, but the thunderous words sounded more distant than before.
“Return to your posts. The battle is halted.” The order was intended for his men, not for them.
Gahalatine lowered his arm. He looked sternly at King Drew. “If you did not summon Lord Kiskaddon to defend you, then I fear some mischief has befallen him. I had hoped to persuade him to serve me, for I hear that Fountain magic cannot work on him. He cannot be compelled against his will. His was your greatest piece on the Wizr board before I ordered it broken. Although I could defeat you at this moment, it would stain my triumph in dishonor. We will withdraw back to the city we have captured. I permit you to bury your dead. You have my oath that no harm will befall your people for the next twelve months. You were clearly not prepared for this conflict. That is not my fault, of course, but I grant you one year to prepare yourselves. Then we will come again, and I will take the hollow crown from you. Seek out your lost champion. Or find a new one. Until then, farewell, noble king.”
The shock of their defeat had permeated the army. Half of the army of Kingfountain lay dead on the field of battle. In contrast, it was one of the most beautiful days imaginable. The sun shone down from above, and a pleasant breeze cooled the air, but it spread the stench of death everywhere.
Trynne wandered listlessly, unable to comprehend the devastation that had befallen them. Never had such an army been so totally overwhelmed. Not since Azinkeep. The shame of the outcome was mirrored in every soldier’s countenance. She overheard the soldiers talk as she moved around. Some said that Lord Owen had fled the fields a coward. Others growled angrily that he had been captured by the enemy king and made into a slave.
In the murk of despair, she spied Captain Staeli trudging up the hillside. His chain hood was askew, his face befouled from the battle. He held a glaive, taken from one of his enemies, the tail dragging in the grass.
“Captain,” Trynne breathed out, seeing the look of devastation in the man’s eyes. He caught sight of her and then sighed with relief.
“So many dead,” he said with great sadness.
“What happened, Captain?” Trynne demanded. “You were there. What happened to my father? Did you see him fall?”
Staeli shook his head. “He didn’t fall. He . . . vanished. We were riding toward the enemy’s lines. All was perfectly quiet and still. It was to be a surprise attack. We waited at the river’s edge for all the forces to arrive. He said he would part the river for us, and we could walk to the other side and attack. It happened at just that moment, as we were getting ready to cross. A clap of thunder came from above the fog. I looked up, surprised. When I turned back, his horse was there, but he was gone. He had vanished. That’s when they attacked us.” Staeli shook his head sorrowfully. “We were surrounded in moments and cut off from the rest of the army. Grand Duke Maxwell came to rescue us and he was cut down. He’s dead, my lady. I saw his son fighting over the corpse, mad with rage. That lad . . . he’s fearsome. We were all surrounded and fighting back-to-back. Then . . .” He stopped, shrugging. “Then we heard Gahalatine’s voice halting the battle. They stopped killing us immediately. They are disciplined. Frightfully so. When a man’s blood is up, it’s hard to stop. They could have slaughtered us all, but they obeyed their king.”
As Captain Staeli spoke, Trynne’s eyes widened with horror.
“I might know where he is,” she said, fighting a surge of worry. “You didn’t see my father with a silver dish? He wasn’t the one who poured the water?” It was a great secret, but she knew that storms could be summoned by pouring water from the silver bowl onto the plinth in the grove or anywhere else in the realm. Only the king, her parents, and Myrddin knew that, other than herself.
“Silver dish? I know naught of that,” he sa
id. “You told me to stay near him. To safeguard his ring. But he vanished from sight, my lady. He vanished before the battle started.”
“Where is Morwenna?” Trynne demanded. “Didn’t she go with you too?”
“Aye, she did. She fought alongside us. She kept calling out to your father. It was mayhem, my lady. Utter mayhem.” His frown tightened, hard as a walnut shell. “Someone has betrayed us.”
“Go find the king,” Trynne said, feeling her stomach wrenching with agony. She put her hand on his armored shoulder. “Tell him what you told me. I must go back to Brythonica. Straightaway. I’ll come back if I can. I don’t think Gahalatine will attack us further. He’s . . . he’s strangely more honorable than that.”
“Aye, my lady,” Staeli said. He looked her seriously in the eye and then hefted the glaive. “I’d have been dead myself several times over if not for your training.” He gave her a look full of tenderness and appreciation. “Thank ye.”
She felt her throat catch at his expression of gratitude. Then she pulled inside herself, uttered the word of power, and clasped onto a series of ley lines that would bring her to the grove.
The sun had just risen in Brythonica when Trynne arrived in the grove full of house-sized boulders, hidden deep inside one of the hunting forests. The oak tree with the stream trickling through its roots was full of leaves, acorns, and buds of mistletoe, and birds of all sizes perched in its branches, calling out heartbreakingly poignant melodies. The grove was winter-like, full of crushed hailstones. The magic of the silver bowl had been invoked, although it was still chained to the plinth.
Trynne could see her breath coming out in puffs of mist. The song of the birds was intensely beautiful, but she wished she could silence them. Her boots took a few crunching steps over the icy shards before she stopped, her eyes bulging.
There was blood everywhere. The ice was melting, but the stain stood vividly against the white.
Trynne covered her mouth, feeling light-headed from more than the magic. Her knees were shaking violently.
There, on the ground in the middle of the grove, lay a severed hand.
“No, no, no,” she whimpered, dizziness threatening to make her faint.
Taking a few weary steps, she collapsed onto the wintry ground by the hand. It was as pallid as a lump of clay. Her skin crawled with dread as she reached out and touched it. So cold. The wedding band was missing from one of the splayed fingers.
She closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of it. And then she groped the hand until she touched the press of metal on the ring finger. The invisible ring was still there.
Trynne slid it off the hand and the ring suddenly appeared in her palm. She felt a ripple of Fountain magic well up inside it.
“Papa,” she choked, staring down at the ring through her wet lashes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Broken
There were tears in Trynne’s eyes as she told the tale of what she had found in the hidden grove. She had not spoken a word about the Battle of Guilme. A hushed silence fell over the solar. King Drew took in a haggard breath, his cheekbone bruised from a buffet he’d taken on his helmet during the battle. Morwenna had brought him directly to the palace before returning to the battlefield to help tend the wounded. The king was stunned, his eyes betraying his despair, but also a spark of hope.
“Then Lord Owen may still be alive,” he whispered faintly. He turned to Sinia, who bore her suffering with quiet dignity.
“I don’t know,” Sinia whispered. “I’ve seen Gahalatine’s army attacking us again. My husband was not seated at the Ring Table. There was someone else in his stead. A knight with a painted face.”
Trynne nearly flinched when her mother said the words. She glanced at Genevieve, who returned the look but also said nothing.
“The painted knight,” the king said, nodding. “He was there at the battle.” He rubbed his mouth, beginning to pace. “No one knows who he is. Some say he hails from Atabyrion.” He shrugged. “Lord Iago cannot vouch for that.”
Trynne, anxious to cut off that train of thought, interceded. “My lord, there were signs of a struggle in the grove. Muddy boot prints and redwood fronds smashed into the ice. I don’t know how many were waiting there to ambush my father. Even with his Fountain magic, he would have been outnumbered and vulnerable. I didn’t feel . . . safe trying to find a hunter to bring back to the grove. I left it in the condition in which I found it and came to the palace to tell my mother and the queen.”
“That was wise,” Genevieve said, nodding. “That grove must remain a secret. Even my husband did not tell me he had been there as a child until you shared the story.” She looked pointedly at Sinia.
Trynne’s mother sighed. “It has been protected by the Montforts for centuries. Owen was the champion of the grove. Marshal Roux was his predecessor. When the magic of the bowl is invoked inside the grove, the champion is summoned to defend it. This has been a great secret. There is only one copy of The Vulgate that contains the story of this grove. It is an ancient tale that I read as a child. It is there Myrddin was entrapped by his student, one of my ancestors.”
Queen Genevieve arched her eyebrows. “Is Owen trapped there now?”
Sinia shook her head. “Myrddin was trapped when a boulder fell and blocked the entrance to a cave in the rocks. Your husband used the hollow crown to help break that rock after a thousand years. The cave is still there. Empty.”
“I searched it myself,” Trynne said. “There was evidence of a little camp there. The ashes from a recent fire. Men had hidden in the cave for protection from the hailstorm. My lord, there was a thunderclap . . . I’ve heard . . . during the battle. Was there not?”
King Drew nodded vigorously. “Indeed there was. It brought back the memories of my childhood. I suspected that it was your father’s secret plan to attack his enemies with a storm, but the sleet and hail I expected never came.”
“He shared no such plan with me,” Sinia said. “Only someone who could use the ley lines could have done it.”
“Morwenna?” the queen asked with a tone of suspicion.
The king shook his head. “According to Lord Amrein, she was with Owen the entire time and helped fight the attackers after he disappeared.”
“Then it must have been one of the other Wizrs,” Sinia said at last. “One who knew the story of the grove.”
The pale-haired Rucrius came to Trynne’s mind, and anger formed a white-hot ball in her chest.
“We must get to the council,” King Drew said. “We must make plans to defend ourselves. Without the assistance of Lord Owen or Myrddin. What happened is a great mystery. Everyone seeks Owen in Brugia, but Trynne’s knowledge leads us elsewhere.” He tapped his bottom lip. “There’s a Fountain-blessed hunter in Dundrennan. He was a lad when I first met him, but he’s a man grown now. Carrick. He knew Lord Owen well and is loyal and discreet. He’s the one who found my sword in the ice caves. Lady Sinia, I suggest we use him to examine the grove for additional clues. It is a singular place.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Sinia said with a grateful nod.
Trynne wrestled with her feelings of despair, grief, and hope. She was still perplexed as to why only her father’s hand had been left behind. If he had been killed, surely they would have left the corpse behind. It was a sign that he had been taken, not murdered. She could imagine the pain he was suffering. At least he had the raven-marked scabbard on his person.
“Then we shall go to the council,” the king said confidently. “Trynne—your assistance has been invaluable. You should be in attendance as well. I know Genny favors your advice.” The king gave his wife an apologetic look. “And it seems, my dear, that you were right all along. With so many losses, so many dead, we will need every able man and woman to defend this realm when Gahalatine’s army rouses itself. We will need Oath Maidens. Would that I could snap my finger and summon them into existence.” He gave Trynne a sorrowful look. “I wish I had heeded your counsel when you first sugg
ested it.”
Trynne felt a flush spread across her cheeks. She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Having a man, a king at that, admit that he was wrong is compliment enough,” the queen said wryly. “I would like to confer a moment with Trynne. We will join you for supper later. I have some ideas on this subject already.”
“Very well,” the king said. He proffered the crook of his arm to Trynne’s mother in a gallant gesture. Sinia gave Trynne a forced smile that did not reach her sad eyes, then took the king’s arm and followed him out of the solar.
Genevieve watched the door swing shut. Her expression changed into one of condolence, and she pulled Trynne into a fierce hug. “My poor dear,” she said soothingly, sniffling. “You were at the battle yourself, yet could not speak of it. No one knows but we two and Captain Staeli.” She pulled away and took Trynne’s hands. “If you had been in Ploemeur, do you think you would have felt the magic of the grove? I could not ask this in front of your mother. She was with me at Kingfountain and did not feel the magic summoning your father. Nor did she have a vision about it. Isn’t that strange?”
Trynne shook her head. “My mother cannot control her visions. They are glimpses into the future. But their purpose is to teach her the Fountain’s will. If I had been in Ploemeur, I would have gone to the grove immediately. And if I had, I don’t know what would have happened. Perhaps I would have been abducted. Two pieces lost instead of one from the Wizr board. The Fountain bade me to protect the king. I knew that’s where I needed to be. I thought I could save my father as well, but . . .” She paused, shaking her head.
“Maybe you still can,” Genevieve said firmly, squeezing Trynne’s shoulder. “We will search for him, dearest. Believe that. But for now, we must prepare to defend Kingfountain. My husband told me that the invaders could practically fly. That their ships dwarf ours in size. How did they assemble such a fleet? How did they acquire such strange powers?”
