The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

Aluem’s voice filled his mind with a rush of wind. ‘Behold the Lady who slumbers evermore in these dread halls, slain by one whom she loved, thence fallen for his act of horror. This chamber shall never crumble to dust, and thus the palace will stand in part forever.’

  Gwyn’s heart ached for Lady Shalesta, for her endless slumber, for the betrayal of her trust. The sorrow of this chamber enveloped his soul like a shroud.

  “Kive killed her, didn’t he?” whispered Nathaera from the doorway. “That’s why he’s so horrible now.”

  ‘None alive now know. Only the ghosts of this place remember, and they will not tell all that happened.’

  Gwyn rose to his feet. “I don’t know what I seek. How can I find the cure?” He kept his voice low, afraid to disturb the Lady’s rest.

  ‘Does nothing draw your eye? Does nothing call out to you?’

  Gwyn glanced around. His gaze settled on the lady’s crown. “Nothing I would take.”

  ‘Then you do see something?’

  “The Lady’s gem caught my notice, but I will not take treasure from the slumbering dead. I don’t believe the cure is in this room.” Heart panging, Gwyn turned from the bed, but a humming note filled his mind and he whirled back around. The crown blazed a brilliant blue; the ghost of wings unfolded from the circlet and spread forth to take flight. Nathaera’s gasp assured Gwyn that she, too, saw the image.

  The wings disappeared and the light faded. In the same moment, the gem slipped from the crown to tumble against the bed beside the Lady. Gwyn stared.

  ‘It seems to me, young Gwynter, that your choice has allowed the gem to choose you instead. Thus, it is yours.’

  Gwyn shook his head. “I can’t take it.”

  “But you must if you wish to save your brother. This is the cure you seek.’

  Gwyn stood still, heart racing, fingers clenched. On the one hand, Lawen lay dying. On the other, Gwyn would be robbing the dead if he took this precious stone. Was it even the cure? Aluem thought so, but he had said before that he didn’t know what the cure might be. Did Gwyn know it was the very thing he sought?

  Yes.

  Something inside knew it was. But should he take it?

  He had come here for Lawen’s sake — a far-fetched but desperate measure. This would ensure his success, if Lawen could hold on long enough for Gwyn to return to Mount Vinwen.

  The Lady had no use of her treasures and Aluem claimed the gem had chosen Gwyn.

  Should he take it?

  He must.

  Gwyn stepped forward. Afallon above, forgive me if I am wrong to do this.

  He reached the dais, padded up to the bed, and studied the Lady’s face. But for her pallor, she looked so alive. Her fair skin and red lips against a frame of black hair stood in stunning contrast. Gwyn’s heart throbbed. He stepped to the bed’s head; bent; grasped the sky-blue gem in one hand.

  “I’m sorry. Thank you,” he whispered, and retreated.

  He feared the chamber might crumble as he and his companions withdrew, but nothing changed. Only the whispering wind at their feet stirred. Gwyn closed the door and started down the corridor the way he had come. The gem in his hand felt warm, and he thought he heard it humming.

  Chapter 11

  “May I see it?” asked Nathaera as soon as the three companions stepped from the palace into the less-dismal courtyard.

  Lost in thoughts of Lawen, it took Gwyn a moment to understand what she meant. “Oh, yes. Of course.” He held the gem up. In the sunlight it sparkled a hundred shades of blue, reflecting sky and water. Nathaera leaned close to study the gem, but she didn’t touch it.

  “Breathtaking. How does one use it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He glanced at Aluem, but the unicorn stared at the shadows of the courtyard’s west side. Gwyn followed his gaze and tensed. A body sprawled across the ground near the remains of what might have been a pyre.

  The unicorn flicked his tail. ‘The remains are not eaten, so it is likely not the work of Kive.’

  Gwyn cringed. “Nathaera, please wait out—” The body twitched. A crow on the courtyard wall took flight with a scream. Gwyn watched its ascent with a growing chill as his heart thudded against his ribs. His eyes dropped to the body. “Aluem.”

  ‘Does it yet live?’

  Nathaera gasped as the figure moaned, lifting its head an inch or so. “Windsur!” She bounded forward, long hair streaming in her wake. Gwyn dashed after her as Aluem shouted a warning.

  A shiver shot up Gwyn’s spine. He caught Nathaera and dove aside as the whistle of an arrow brushed by his ear. Gwyn stumbled to his knees, clutching the girl and the gem. His eyes searched the wall above until he spotted an Ilidreth silhouetted against the sky, a second arrow nocked and aimed at him. A mad laugh sang across the air.

  Gwyn stiffened. This was the Ilidreth from the True Wood — the one who had intended to torture him.

  “Hello, Simaeri,” said the Ilidreth. “I am greatly impressed you have come this far, but you trespass upon sacred ground.” The tone darkened. “Grave robber. Give me what you have stolen!”

  Nathaera trembled in Gwyn’s arms. “I will let you go,” he murmured, “and you must run as fast as you can to Aluem. He will protect you.”

  She gave a small nod.

  Gwyn loosened his grip and sprang to his feet as Nathaera bolted toward the unicorn. The Ilidreth hissed and changed his aim, but Gwyn darted forward to reclaim his attention. He kept the gem clasped in his hand.

  “What do you think I’ve stolen?” asked Gwyn.

  The Ilidreth sneered. “The Lady’s burial treasure. Her life-gem. Give it to me, Simaeri!”

  “I’ve stolen nothing. What I took was gifted by the Lady herself.”

  “Liar! The Lady would gift nothing to a Simaeri brute!” He released the bowstring. Gwyn had no time to dodge as the arrow shot straight for his heart.

  Lawen, I’m sorry.

  A torrent of wind rose with an immense howl, lifting decayed leaves and dust from the ground. The arrow landed with a clatter several feet to Gwyn’s left.

  The Ilidreth screamed and rapidly nocked another arrow. He let it loose. Again, the wind rose, and the arrow clattered near its brother. Gwyn stared at the arrows. What in the name of Blessed Afallon is happening?

  “Do the spirits favor Simaerin now?” the Ilidreth shouted to the sky.

  Gwyn caught movement from the corner of his eye. He glanced toward it, expecting to see the nobleman, Windsur; but instead he found Kive crouched near Windsur, eyes riveted upon the Ilidreth atop the wall. Kive slinked to the ivy-covered barrier and started to climb, utterly silent, while his lips moved to form a familiar word: Rat.

  Looking between the two Ilidreth, Gwyn sucked in a breath. Should he shout out a warning or let Kive have at his fellow madman?

  Windsur groaned, drawing the mad Ilidreth’s focus.

  “Ah, my wounded prisoner. Hush now, don’t worry, Windsur ren Cloven of Simaerin! I shall do as I promised — your life ends this day!” He nocked another arrow.

  Gwyn reached out, as though he could stop the projectile weapon, and sprinted toward Windsur— but the distance was too far to outrun an arrow’s path. He’d never make it.

  The Ilidreth pulled back his bowstring. In the same moment, Kive leapt at him. The arrow dropped from slackened fingers as Gwyn skidded to his knees beside Windsur. The two Ilidreth plunged from the wall, disappearing on the other side. One yelped, even as the second shouted with delight, “Nice rat!”

  All fell still.

  Panting, Gwyn turned his attention to Windsur. “Are you well, Lord ren Cloven?” He laid a hand on the man’s arm, a stab of sympathy surging through him. He knew too well what terror Windsur must have experienced as a prisoner of the mad Ilidreth.

  Windsur’s eyes shot open and he knocked Gwyn’s hand aside. “Don’t touch me, sorcerer! I’m not deceived.”

  Gwyn frowned. “You are wounded and disoriented, no doubt, so I will not take offense at y
our accusation; but I am no sorcerer, sir.”

  Windsur scoffed. “Do you think me blind? I saw your trick with the wind against those arrows.”

  “That wasn’t I,” answered Gwyn. “But I can see how it might be perceived that way.” The slap of feet brought Gwyn’s head around as Nathaera arrived, gasping for breath.

  “Windsur, I’m so glad you’re alive! Though I can’t see how it’s possible.”

  The soft clop of Aluem’s hooves approached. ‘Gwynter, Ilidreth do not perish by falling from such a small height. We must not tarry.’

  He nodded. “Can you move, Lord ren Cloven? We need to leave this place.”

  Windsur raised his chin. “Of course I can move. I’m no woman.”

  Gwyn lifted an eyebrow but said nothing as he caught Windsur’s arm and hefted him upright. “You must climb onto Aluem, if you can manage it.”

  Windsur glanced at the unicorn and nodded. “Of course I can.” He allowed Gwyn and Nathaera to help him stand. Gwyn noted several shallow cuts and bruises on the man’s face, and he suspected worse wounds lay hidden beneath his shirt and vest.

  Gwyn supported Windsur as the latter man limped toward the unicorn. But Aluem shied away, tossing his head as they approached.

  “What is it?” asked Gwyn.

  Aluem shook his mane again. ‘He cannot ride me.’

  Gwyn glanced at Windsur, puzzled. The man stood shorter than Gwyn, though he was better built, having reached full manhood. Gwyn guessed they weighed much the same. “Why not?”

  Windsur moaned. “What’s the delay? I can’t stand here all day.”

  ‘It is a rare man who can ride me as you do, Gwyn. This one cannot. He is not pure.’

  Gwyn flushed as he understood the implications. But Windsur was betrothed to Nathaera. He was unwed. Surely that meant… Gwyn shook his head. It didn’t matter what it meant. “Is it impossible or merely uncomfortable?”

  “What the devil are you babbling about?” Windsur demanded. “Help me mount your confounded horse or release me to do so on my own.”

  Gwyn gaped at him. “My horse?”

  “Yes, your horse! Are you simple, man?”

  Nathaera spoke up. “Windsur, I know you’re not well, but that’s no reason to lose your temper when Gwyn is just trying to help.”

  “Help? Is that what you call this? Standing here, waiting to mount his blasted horse, losing blood the whole time? And after all I’ve been through, with the savages and the woods! I tell you, Nathaera, I’ve reached my limit!”

  The petite young woman reached up and rested a finger against Windsur’s lips. “Hush. Shouting won’t help anybody. Where are your manners, sir? Let Gwyn do what he can. He’s rescued us both.” She lowered her hand.

  “This simpleton?”

  Nathaera pressed her finger to his lips again. “That isn’t nice, Windsur. There is never cause to be rude. And besides, Gwyn isn’t a simpleton.”

  Gwyn turned from them to meet Aluem’s eyes. The unicorn flicked his tail.

  ‘I can try to carry him, but our going will be much impeded. My speed, my very essence, will be diminished in his presence.’

  “Be that as it may, we have no other choice. He cannot be left here.”

  Windsur gestured with the arm Gwyn wasn’t holding. “See? He’s speaking to himself. He’s either a witch or a lunatic.”

  Gwyn stifled a scowl as heat flashed through his frame. “I cannot be a witch, sir, for only women are witches. Men of that skill would be called sorcerers or warlocks. Nor am I a lunatic. I am merely speaking with Aluem.”

  Nathaera nodded. “It’s true, Windsur. Here, Aluem, speak to him.”

  ‘He cannot hear me.’

  Nathaera frowned, apparently receiving the same answer as Gwyn. “But why not?”

  ‘He sees me as a horse, not a unicorn. He wields no belief in magic or faith, despite his accusations. Thus, he cannot hear me.’

  Windsur sighed. “This is madness. Just get me onto the horse and let’s be underway. I can’t abide this dread place any longer.”

  Gwyn moved forward, and though Aluem tossed his mane, he held still and allowed Windsur to clamber onto his back. The company left the courtyard at a plodding pace. As they started down the Chesevwé, away from Swan Castle, Gwyn thought he heard a rustle in the brambles nearby.

  The wind picked up, sounding like a thousand ancient voices sobbing, bidding a sorrowful farewell.

  They pushed on until dusk crept into night. Gwyn ordered a halt, and despite his private misgivings so near the borders of the True Wood, he lit a fire to keep the wounded nobleman from catching a chill.

  “Let me see your wounds,” he said, kneeling beside Windsur, who rested against the hollow of an old tree.

  Windsur turned a sneer on him. “I’d rather Nathaera attend me. I’m of noble lineage, and common filth should be more prudent with my person.”

  “Windsur!” cried Nathaera.

  Gwyn lifted a hand. “It’s fine, Lady Nathaera. I’m not offended.” He turned back to Windsur. “If it eases your mind, I know something of herb lore, and—”

  “And he’s also nobleborn,” Nathaera cut in.

  Windsur’s eyes widened. “Nobleborn?” He turned to stare at Gwyn. “You look so rustic! What of your homespun rags?”

  Gwyn smiled. “Rags, they may now be, but they weren’t spun at home. A few weeks ago, they were unspoiled, if plain. Your own garb has suffered in this merciless place as well. But I confess I’ve been remiss. Forgive my slight. My full name is Gwynter ren Terare of Vinwen.”

  He understood the dawning expression on Windsur’s face; the slight curling of his lips; the arching brow. “Ah,” said Windsur. “Vinwen. Such a quaint little estate. Farmers, aren’t you?”

  Gwyn drew a long breath to stifle his churning temper. This wasn’t the first time other lords had slighted his House. Don’t let him goad you. He forced himself to smile. “We don’t work farms, but plantations. Our food supplies the Crow King’s armies.”

  Windsur’s scornful smile grew. “How patriotic. It’s good that you recognize your worth. After all, not everyone can be a knight’s son. Someone must grow crops.”

  Nathaera made a strangled sort of sound. “Oh, Windsur. Please.”

  Gwyn rifled through his meager belongings and pulled out the herb kit. “We’ve digressed. May I be allowed to treat your wounds, sir?”

  Windsur’s smile faded a little. “You never said why you are traveling through these Afallon-forsaken lands. And how you ran into my betrothed, or when.”

  “I sought Swan Castle,” Gwyn answered. He lifted a poultice. “This helps with bruising and infection. May I administer it?”

  “Why were you seeking the castle?” Windsur asked, folding his arms.

  Gwyn sighed and laid the poultice aside. “For personal reasons I’d rather not discuss, if you please. I met Lady Nathaera three days ago. Before that, I traveled only with Aluem as my companion. Have I answered your questions sufficiently, sir?”

  Windsur shifted against the tree trunk. “Why have I never seen you at court?”

  Nathaera chuckled. “I asked the same question.”

  Gwyn rummaged through his kit again. “Because I’m not yet of age.” He glanced up in time to watch Windsur’s mouth fall open.

  “Just how old are you?”

  “Fourteen and six months.” He pulled an herb from the kit, chewed the leaves, then slapped them against a deep scratch on Windsur’s hand. “This will numb some of the pain. Allow me to treat you, and then let us retire. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

  The lordling’s lips stretched into a profound grimace as he stared at the chewed-up leaves, but he offered no protest. Gwyn quietly treated each wound, while Nathaera turned her back to give her betrothed his privacy.

  Finished, Gwyn set to work on a meal. Aluem discreetly provided berries and Gwyn boiled an herb broth from his stores.

  When the company had eaten, Gwyn slipped outside the en
campment and settled on a half-rotted log nestled between two gnarled trees. Night noises filled the air around him, soothing despite the gloom of the woods. Nearby the Crystal Way glowed, illuminating the path ahead. The starstones sang to their brothers above as Gwyn pulled the sky gem from his pocket and ran his fingers along each edge and smooth place. The gem still felt warm, as though it had captured some fragment of a summer morning sunbeam.

  “May I sit?”

  Gwyn started and craned his head to find Nathaera standing nearby, hands behind her back, a smile playing at her lips.

  “Certainly.” He motioned to the spot on the log beside him.

  She circled the log and demurely took the proffered seat. “Your mind must be so full of hopes and fears. Are you tired at all?”

  He nodded. “A little. But I’m too anxious to rest.”

  “Tell me about him. Your brother.” She shifted on the log and folded her hands in her lap.

  He stared at the gem, vision blurring as his mind conjured a clear image of Lawen in his armor, strong and lithe. “Lawen is the gentlest, kindest soul I’ve ever known. He’s my lord father’s only child from his first marriage. The birth was difficult for my father’s wife, and she died within a few hours of delivering Lawen. The incident devastated my father, but he found solace in his son.

  “It was ten years before he married my mother, who gave birth to me. Lawen never opposed the marriage, nor did he resent me — though he easily could have. The arrangement was harder on my mother, who wanted her own child to be the heir of Vinwen. Ironically Lawen wants nothing to do with growing crops or managing a serfdom. He’d much rather travel the world, so he joined the Crow King’s army.”

  “But you said he’s very gentle. Wasn’t that difficult for him?”

  “Very, but he also believes in protecting the weak. Lawen has always felt that a knight or soldier should be gentle, not hard and cruel. It’s the gentle souls who remember to stop fighting when peace has been achieved.” He fingered the gem again as fear’s claws raked against his memories, chilling his bones. Let Lawen be alive. “How is Windsur doing?”

  “He fell asleep. I can’t even imagine how exhausted he is, after all he’s been through. Please forgive his ingratitude today. He’s not usually so uncivil.” Nathaera grimaced. “It’s been a trying few days for all of us.”