“Hywel was quick to react, but we were nearly too late.” Glain began to recount the incident, but the pounding echo of determined boot heels in the hall stopped her short. “He is angry.”
Alwen almost smiled. “And wouldn’t you be, if a soul-sucking wraith had come for you in the dead of night?”
Hywel burst through the door with unspent rage, Ynyr close on his heels. “That one.”
Hywel pointed directly at Glain, staring at her beneath a glowering brow and shaggy dark curls. He carried himself with a stag-like grace and the physical confidence of a man who knew how to handle himself. Even half-dressed he was a commanding presence. If Hywel knew fear, he would never admit it. “Fortunately for me, she is fierce, and quick-witted.”
He snatched the cup from Glain and gulped the contents, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and held the cup out for more. “What manner of creatures were they?”
“Very old and very obscure black magic,” Alwen said. “The Cythraul demon is a taker of souls, brought from the netherworld and given new form in this one. They are mindless creatures that serve this one purpose, and they answer only to the mage who summons them. You were very lucky. They rarely fail to accomplish their task.”
Alwen gestured to Glain. “Bring another chair.”
“I will stand.” Hywel swallowed his second cupful and seemed to find some comfort in the spirits, if not in the Fane’s defenses. “You claimed I would be safe in this place. I trusted in that.”
“Indeed, you are safe, Hywel. Are you not standing before me now, in full form? And was it not my second you only moments ago credited with your rescue? Had the Cythraul come for you anywhere but here, you would not have survived.”
Hywel snorted and glared even harder at Alwen. “Had I been anywhere but here, I wonder, would the Cythraul have come for me at all?”
Alwen offered a half-shrug, as if to concede the point, and handed Glain her cup, still half full, and folded her hands in her lap. “How is it you are in residence tonight, Hywel? We’ve heard nothing of you these last few weeks.”
“I came seeking respite from a bitter campaign.” Hywel’s scowl turned somber. “My father passed on to the next life some weeks ago, and ever since I have been forced to defend his borders—my borders—from that thieving marauder Anarawd of Gwynedd.”
Alwen raised one eyebrow in a show of reproach. “I believe that ‘thieving marauder’ is the rightful king of Gwynedd. And your uncle, if memory serves me.”
“There has never been love between the House of Aberffraw and the House of Dinefwyr,” Hywel explained. Aberffraw was the castle court of Gwynedd, and Dinefwyr the ruling seat of Seisyllwg. “When my grandfather divided his lands, he also divided his sons. My father’s death has given my uncle cause to rejoice and an excuse to extend his reach. I have had no peace at all this past fortnight.”
Emrys, interim captain of the castle guard, bulled into the room flanked by the headman of Hywel’s personal guard. “My apologies, Your Grace. I’ve only just heard that you had arrived and about the threat on your life.”
Hywel barely acknowledged Emrys. “And just how long do you suppose I would live if I announced my every step?”
“If I had been alerted once you were on the grounds,”—Emrys struggled to maintain the proper deference—“we might have taken other precautions.”
Glain felt a twinge of empathy for Emrys. He was the most capable ranking officer in the Cad Nawdd, aside from Aslak, and the appropriate man to serve as captain in Aslak’s absence. However, Emrys lacked the confidence that might have come with winning the post on his own merits, and it showed.
Hywel spoke without taking his eyes from Alwen. “A soldier of merit is always properly prepared, most certainly in times of war. Surely the security of this compound is not dependent upon whether or not I am expected—or any other guest of your palace for that matter.”
He turned to glare now at Emrys. “As it stands, Captain, your defenses have been breached. How do you account for that?”
“If evil crossed our walls we will know soon enough. I’ve sent Rhys to scout the grounds.” Emrys had recovered his command, personally and professionally. The Cad Nawdd was an unequalled regiment and worthy of his pride, though the castle guard had suffered great losses in the battle for the Fane. “He will report to us here.”
“So we wait.” Alwen had a look of deep thought. “In the meantime, let me hear from each of you your own account. Perhaps we may glean something useful from the details. Were you awakened in your rooms, Hywel, or did the wraiths assault you in the hall?”
Hywel crossed the room to the hearth and back again. He paced as if he didn’t know what else to do with himself, as if the frustration he must be feeling would explode inside him. It made Glain nervous and she braced herself against the shame he was surely about to place at Ariane’s feet. There was no saving her friend now.
“It came upon me in my rooms, as if it passed through the closed door, and without a sound. By the time I sensed any presence at all, I was already in its grasp. I’ve never faced a thing that holds form but has no substance. How does a man fight a foe he cannot strike?”
Glain felt gratitude for Hywel’s discretion, though she could not imagine what advantage keeping Ariane a secret would give him. Hywel was not known for his selflessness.
“There were two,” Ynyr spoke up. “Glain went to the king’s defense while I tried to free Ariane.”
Glain glared at her brother acolyte. If Hywel could be discreet, why couldn’t Ynyr?
“It was Nerys who saved us all, really. Had she not come when she did—well, I’d rather not imagine.” Ynyr made no attempt to hide his disdain. “Ariane was apparently overcome by the shock of the attack, though I am at a loss to explain how she came to be there in the first place.”
Glain half expected the king to say that Ariane had been there at his invitation, but it seemed Hywel’s gallantry did not extend that far. Not that Ariane’s was a singular indiscretion; it could have been one of a dozen other women of the Stewardry in Hywel’s bed on any given night.
“The three of you are accountable to Glain. It falls to her to address an acolyte’s conduct when need be.” Alwen frowned, but offered no further comment on Ynyr’s concerns. “Something alerted you two to the threat?”
“I dreamt of danger,” Glain recalled. “But there was something else, something that caused me to wake. Ynyr, did you not say you heard a noise?”
“I cannot honestly say whether I heard anything, but I did sense that there was something amiss. And there was that awful smell.”
Alwen nodded. “The Cythraul leave a scent in their wake. They can be tracked once they have entered the earthly realm, but it is impossible to anticipate their coming. How were the wraiths destroyed?”
“Dispelled by word and wand,” Glain explained. “But it took the three of us combined.”
Rhys arrived and Glain’s heart leapt, though he cast only a passing glance in her direction before addressing Emrys and his mother. Their friendship was a poorly kept secret, but out of respect for Alwen their relationship was private. Not that there was much to hide aside from a few stolen kisses, but there was the promise of more. At least Glain thought there was, one day when they weren’t all caught in the throes of chaos. But for now, Rhys maintained a serious devotion to his service in the Cad Nawdd, and Glain was committed first to her duty as proctor.
“I have news,” he said. The look Rhys exchanged with his mother was furtive and begged for privacy.
Alwen nodded and turned back to Ynyr. Her voice had taken on a somber tone. “Thank you, Ynyr. You’ve done well tonight. I will trust it to you to see that the Fane itself is secured. No need to disturb any more sleepy Stewards, but I am sure Emrys can spare the guardsmen to help you make sure there is no evil still lurking about the halls.”
“Take my men
with you,” Hywel ordered. “They’ve been of little use to me tonight. Perhaps they will be of better service to you.”
Ynyr was clearly unhappy to be dismissed, but nonetheless gave his bow and left to attend to his duty with Hywel’s guardsmen in tow. Glain felt regret, but she understood Alwen’s caution. Those closest to Alwen had known since before Madoc’s death that there were traitors among them. And although Ynyr had shown nothing but loyalty and devotion in the weeks since Machreth’s Hellion horde had decimated the Stewardry, the circle of trust remained tightly drawn.
“Not helpful news, however.” Rhys closed the door behind the men and faced his mother and the king. “The grounds and the surround appear undisturbed. If anything or anyone has transgressed upon us, there is no evidence I could see.”
Hywel began to pace. “The lack of evidence is hardly proof that there has been no transgression.”
“Nothing?” Emrys queried further. “No tracks or a trail?”
Rhys looked perplexed. “Nothing I would not expect to find, save a foul odor near the rear gate that raised my hackles a bit. The remains of a wolf kill, a stag or a wild boar maybe.”
Glain’s heart skipped, and all eyes turned on Rhys.
“What?” Rhys stepped back a pace. “What have I said?”
“It seems there is evidence, after all.” Alwen sighed. “The odor you noticed was the scent of the Cythraul, Rhys. If the magic that wrought those wraiths was strong enough to pierce the veil that hides us from the world, we are in far worse straits than I feared.”
Rhys was puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“To think the Cythraul were conjured by a traitor within our walls is disheartening enough,” Alwen explained. “But only a master magician, one well versed in the dark arts, could summon them from the netherworld and march them right through our defenses.”
“Machreth?” Glain nearly choked on the name. The former proctor of the Stewardry was the only black mage she knew, and the only enemy with the motive and the means to threaten them. Despite Alwen’s many and varied attempts to discover his whereabouts during the twelve weeks since his failed attempt to take control of Fane Gramarye, he remained at large.
“Or Cerrigwen.” Rhys raised another gruesome possibility. “They are allies, after all.”
This was still an unpleasant thought. Cerrigwen’s disappearance just before the last attack had suggested she was complicit in Machreth’s first campaign to overthrow the Fane. It was difficult to believe the guardian of the Natural Realm had forsaken her destiny and the prophecy she had sworn to uphold, but whatever the reason, her defection was indefensible. Even if it could be proved that Cerrigwen had not collaborated with Machreth the usurper, it was painfully evident she had done nothing to stop him.
Alwen’s brow furrowed as her thoughts deepened. “Whether Cerrigwen is truly Machreth’s ally or was merely a means to an end is still unclear. I have long suspected she is driven by her own motives. We should assume they are separate threats.”
“Your mages are but two more enemies among many.” Hywel allowed a wry smile to soften his scowl. “Apparently it isn’t enough I must fight my uncle and my brother.”
“Your brother?” Alwen’s faint frown belied her surprise.
Hywel’s eyes narrowed. “Word reached me not three days ago that Clydog is gathering support in hopes of taking Seisyllwg by force.”
“By law he is entitled to half your father’s holdings.” Alwen eyed Hywel with suspicion. “What reason would he have to take anything by force?”
“Clydog may have been fostered in my uncle’s house, but his first loyalty should still be to our father. So long as he supports Anarawd, he is entitled to nothing,” Hywel roared. “Instead of returning to Seisyllwg to renew his fealty to the House of Dinefwyr, he rides upon it with his sword raised and the cry of victory for Aberffraw on his lips.”
“This is unfortunate news,” said Alwen.
“Clydog may be foolish, though I can hardly fault him for his nature,” Hywel admitted, his rage softening as suddenly as it erupted. “I might even admire him for it. We are both sons of Cadell, after all, and the thirst for power is bred in our bones. However, if Clydog thinks to set his ambitions against me, well,”—Hywel paused to drink—“that is another matter.”
“So it begins.” Alwen spoke as though sorrow were swallowing her. “We are now at war on every front.”
The stark pronouncement silenced the room and set everyone in it to thinking on the consequences. Images from her dream resurfaced, and Glain’s stomach churned with dread. Perhaps the visions had been an omen of something worse yet to come.
Alwen sighed. “We have squandered the weeks since the siege, withdrawing like the defeated to nurse our wounds and our worries, while our enemies have spent the winter fattening their ranks and sharpening their teeth.
“The scrying stone has shown me Thorvald on his way home from the North with Cerrigwen’s daughter and the third guardian, Branwen. Bledig may well have found Tanwen by now, or he may still be searching. This I have not yet seen. But sooner or later Cerrigwen will be caught and the others will return. Once we have reclaimed all four keys to the realms, it will fall to me to unite the Circle of Sages and provide Hywel his Stewards’ Council. Until then, if it can even be done, there is little hope of securing Hywel’s reign. But I will not waste another minute waiting.”
Suddenly, Alwen’s expression ignited as if her resolve had rekindled. Her fingers gripped the scrollwork arms of the chair as if at any moment she might spring from the seat.
“Hywel.” Alwen stood abruptly. “Despite the events tonight, you are safest here, in this castle. I suggest you bring your armies to you here. Mount your campaigns from our gates as you must, but make Fane Gramarye your stronghold for a time.”
Hywel’s glower darkened further as he inclined his head in an unmistakable display of resentment. “A wise precaution, for now. But if Clydog marches for Dinefwyr, I will be there to defend it.”
Alwen took this as agreement and continued to list commands. “Emrys, send scouts east and north. If Thorvald or Bledig can be found on any of the roads home, let us hasten their return. The sooner the remaining Guardians of the Realms are safe within these walls, the better we will all rest. Glain, gather those among the Order you would trust with your life, and bring them to me at dawn.”
Alwen returned to her seat. “You may take your leave now, all of you, save my son. Rhys, I fear there will be no rest for you tonight.”
Glain wished for an excuse to stay behind, hoping to hear what errand Alwen had in mind for Rhys. Maybe he would find her later. For now she had her own tasks, and Ariane still owed her an explanation.
TWO
Glain wandered the hallways for what seemed like hours, thinking on Alwen’s order to choose her most trusted. By the time she returned to her chambers, her decision was made. To her surprise, Ynyr was waiting outside her door—with a summons from Hywel.
“He can be very intimidating, but he loathes a bootlicker,” Ynyr advised as he escorted her to the king’s quarters. “Which I find interesting, because he has a way of making a person desperate for his favor. Which, of course, he never grants. You’ll see what I mean.”
Glain wiped her dewy palms on her robe and hoped that she’d managed to tame the flyaway locks around her face. “Why would he want to see me?”
“I imagine he means to offer you his thanks. You did save him from the Cythraul, you know.” Ynyr paused with his hand on the door clasp. “Glain. I trust you to have more sense than Ariane.”
“Really, Ynyr.” Glain was appalled, and then a little worried. “You don’t think that is why he has summoned me?”
Ynyr gave an apologetic shrug as he sprang the latch, as if to say he wished he knew, but did not. “Ariane is hardly the only girl he has charmed, though she is the most smitten. Nerys says she can’t stop
nattering on about him.”
He pushed open the door to the master’s chamber that Hywel occupied and waved her in, whispering as she passed, “I will be right here, in the hall.”
Glain was too nervous to respond. All of the third-floor suites were spacious and finely appointed, especially when compared to the small plain rooms she and the other acolytes occupied. The proctor’s official suite was second in finery only to the Sovereign’s, and as such had been offered to Hywel. By right, and under less chaotic circumstances, the chamber would have been Glain’s. She was proud to hold the title but had no desire to ever claim the suite. These rooms had last belonged to Machreth, which forever soiled their appeal for her.
Hywel’s was the only presence evident now. He could not have appeared to be more at home, sprawled sideways across a tufted armchair and reading a book by firelight.
She made a slight bow in his direction. “Sire.”
“That’s twice you’ve used that particular address.” Hywel glanced at her over the top of the book. “My countrymen call me ‘brenin’; others say ‘king’ or ‘lord.’ ”
“And Alwen calls you Hywel,” Glain responded without thinking, then realized that she ought not to have spoken so plainly. “Which do you prefer?”
“I have little regard for titles, though I will answer to any I’ve earned, by birthright or battle.” Hywel folded the book closed and studied her instead. “But it is my opinion that the man who claims the laurels a title demands must be deserving of them, or else the title is meaningless.”
“Madoc had a saying,” Glain recalled. Though she knew she shouldn’t, Glain felt quite at ease with him. “Something about a pig dressed in fine fur and silver still being a pig.”
A smile widened the long lines of Hywel’s narrow and angular face, softening the edges of his naturally stern expression. “I have heard him say it.”
“How shall I address you then?” Glain asked. “What does Ynyr call you?”
The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) Page 2
