The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

  Chapter 37

  Gwyn sought out the royal stables where Aluem stood in his private, immaculate stall. Through an open window, moonlight streamed in and distant strains of music haunted the wind. Gwyn’s birthday party would go on all night without him. He doubted anyone would notice. Lawen had already retired to catch a little sleep before the dawn arrived.

  Aluem turned his head from the night sky beyond his window. ‘You are troubled, my friend. What has occurred?’

  “The Crow King is sending us home, Aluem. He’s given me three months’ leave.”

  ‘Quite generous.’

  “Too generous,” Gwyn muttered. He stalked across the stall and stood beside Aluem at the window. “It makes me very nervous. What does he intend by this gesture? I cannot believe it’s merely a kindness.”

  ‘Perhaps not, but you do require a rest. You have taxed yourself beyond enduring several times of late, particularly this past winter.’

  Gwyn shrugged. “I agree that a reprieve shall do me good, and Lawen looked haggard tonight.”

  ‘Lawen?’

  “Oh, yes. Lawen is here. He’ll return with us to Vinwen. The Crow King orchestrated it.”

  ‘I am glad for you, but it is alarming that the king would sanction sending you both home. He’s kept you apart for so long.’

  Gwyn studied a winking star against the velvet sky. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do but wait. If the king intends something, we’ll soon find out what it is.” He turned to Aluem. “You’ve remained with me for nearly two years. Are you homesick? We’ll be near the True Wood soon. Shall we say goodbye there?”

  The unicorn tossed his head. ‘Always this question: shall I leave? Are you so eager to be rid of me, my friend?’

  Gwyn shook his head. “Of course not. But I fear I’ve become reliant upon you, and already I despise the idea of losing your companionship. The longer you’re with me, the more I dread your departure, but that’s just it. If you must go, please go soon rather than late.” He laced his fingers through Aluem’s silken mane and pressed his forehead against the unicorn’s. “Apart from Lawen, there is no one I care for more than you.”

  The horse in the next stall nickered.

  ‘Dear, tenderhearted human child, your words stroke my heartstrings like an Ilidreth harp. What is more, the music of your words holds no guile or greed. Blessed boy, meet my gaze.’

  Gwyn stepped back to take in the opalescent eyes of his fae friend. Something hung on the air, like a tingle or a humming note, harmonic and ethereal.

  ‘Gwynter ren Terare, the Weave is a force that entwines all life unto itself, but there are few outside the ties of the fae who recognize its bonds. The connection shared between all life is deep and beautiful. When such a connection is severed, it can cut sharper than a dagger’s edge and cause more harm than death. Few of the fae reach beyond their own to forge such bonds. Dragons alone seek it out of need, and they do so often at heavy cost. Unicorns rarely, if ever, desire such a connection. Yet I would extend such an offer to you. I would bond with thee, human, and thou wouldst be my brother and my kin.

  ‘Of course, this I will only do if you desire it. T’would mean that I will remain at your side through all your life. I cannot grant you immortality, but your life would be long, barring fatal injury. You would be able to wed a human if you chose, but I must warn you: any infidelity or promiscuity on your part would shatter our kinship, for a unicorn cannot be bound to something impure — and as I warned, it would be more painful than you can fathom to lose such a connection, once formed. That said, I suspect that a man of your character would resist any such temptation.’

  Gwyn stared at his friend. “But Aluem, does that mean you could never return home?”

  ‘I could visit my Vale at any point, and you would be welcome to travel there with me. We would be kin, Gwynter. Brothers. I would not estrange myself from my own but would add you unto it.’

  “But…” Gwyn lowered his gaze to the floor. “Why would you choose me? I-I’m…overcome.” He wrapped his arms around Aluem’s neck. “Thank you. Yes, please. I accept. Thank you.”

  ‘We shall perform the ceremony of kinship when we reach Mount Vinwen. It is best to do it on the soil of your birthplace.’

  A pleasant warmth flooded Gwyn’s body. For the past year and a half, he’d feared Aluem would soon announce an end of his adventures with Gwyn. That he would tire of human politics and war and return to his homeland, apart from all the turmoil. Each day the idea of losing his unicorn friend became harder to bear. Now he had nothing to fear; Aluem would be family.

  A knock sounded behind Gwyn. Alarmed, he spun to face a cloaked figure at the stall’s doorway.

  The figure dipped his cowled head. “Forgive the intrusion, but I couldn’t resist greeting an old acquaintance.”

  “Are we acquainted?” asked Gwyn. “Your voice isn’t familiar to me.”

  “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be after so long.” The man raised a hand and drew back his cowl. “I am Rindermarr Lorric, a priest of Afallon. We met in one of your darkest moments, I think.”

  Gwyn’s eyes widened. “Of course. I remember your face well. You were a boon to me in my despair, and while I have no proof, I believe you swayed the king in his verdict.”

  Rindermarr smiled. “So it would seem. Yet now you’re highly favored of him. I would never have wagered on that, even were I a betting man. You’ve climbed a high ladder in a very short time, Master ren Terare.” He paused. “Forgive me, it’s General Gwynter now, isn’t it?”

  “News travels with the swiftness of a unicorn. Yes, I suppose I am a general now.”

  Rindermarr shook his head. “And only sixteen years old today. You’ll make enemies for that, but I suspect you already know it.”

  “Quite well,” Gwyn replied. “But should I fear such from the church, Rindermarr, or may I count you as a friend?”

  “You’re direct, aren’t you? Have no fear. For my part, I would rather be a friend of mages than not. Particularly with your growing reputation, both as a proficient soldier and as the king’s favored mage.”

  Gwyn glanced past the priest as a chill climbed his spine. “Be cautious, friend. Your language is bold outside the castle walls. Is talk of mages allowed in public places these days?”

  “Allowed or not,” Rindermarr said, “talk is being had. Despite the Crow King’s ban on magic, it’s stirring in Simaerin. More and more mages are surfacing, particularly in the northwest, near Mount Vinwen.”

  Gwyn perked up. “Vinwen? Is there any guess of why?”

  The priest shook his head. “None. It has the Order of Corvus very concerned, especially since it’s still limping a little after the Battle of Drakefield. That was your maiden battle, wasn’t it?”

  “It was,” Gwyn said, nodding. “A lot of mages died, among many more soldiers.”

  “True. Quite true. While the army has been rebuilt, it isn’t as though mages can be recruited in the same fashion. And now rogue mages are burgeoning with unchecked power, faster than the order can squelch it. People are talking. Where rumor dwelt before, now there’s knowledge and suspicion — and many, many questions. The church is bearing the brunt of it, in many ways. The line between tradition and doctrine needs to be redrawn. Too long the church has preached of magic as an evil, but people are seeing men under the king’s banner wielding it to stop mere babes from using magic. Will the king demand children burned openly at the stake, or will he recruit them into his order? Will the people stand for it? Who can say?”

  Gwyn canted his head. “Why speak with me about this?”

  “You once faced death at the king’s hand. You chose to serve him in order to stay alive. You now have his favor. But tell me, Gwynter, does he have your heart? Do you serve the Crow King or Simaerin?”

  Gwyn frowned. Was this a ploy? “Are they not one and the same, priest?”

  “Is that how you see it?” asked Rindermarr, eyes dark and glittering in the gloom.

 
“I have sworn an oath to the true king of Simaerin, and this country will I serve until I die,” Gwyn said softly.

  “Carefully crafted words.” Rindermarr nodded. “I believe I understand you. Thank you for your time.” He turned away but paused and glanced back. “I think your trip to Mount Vinwen will be educational for you, but not necessarily restful. If you wish to understand how things are shaping in Simaerin, visit Charquae during your stay. There’s a man there: Towwen Brym. He wrote a pamphlet which is turning heads. Find him. Read his words. They may interest you. Good night, General Gwynter. Safe journey.”

  Until the priest’s footfalls faded, Gwyn stood beside Aluem in perfect stillness. “What do you think?” he whispered, turning to the unicorn.

  ‘I believe, young Gwynter, the Weave is breaking its bonds. I feel the kings of old stirring in their tombs. Something is about to change the world.’

  Chapter 38

  Five days into their journey, Gwyn and Lawen stopped at a ramshackle inn for a night’s rest indoors. The Crow’s Nest crawled with insects but felt like a palace after the stormy nights spent on the roadside. Only now, nestled under the inn’s leaky roof in a private chamber, did Gwyn feel safe enough to relate his conversation with the priest to Lawen. The brothers sat on the room’s single bed, the odor of mildew drifting from the damp coverlet.

  Rain drummed the world outside. The rhythmic drip of water landing in a bucket in the nearby corner caught Gwyn’s eye, and he watched it drip, again, again.

  “I’ve heard of Towwen Brym.”

  Gwyn dragged his eyes from the bucket, back to Lawen. “You have?”

  His brother nodded. “He’s labeled an extremist. He’s outspoken in his opinions, and when he draws his quill, its nib is sharper than a sword, so people say. General Cadogan calls him an eccentric fool. I understand Towwen used to live in Crowwell, but his opinions weren’t well received by socialites, and the Crow King disdained him. What’s remarkable is that Towwen Brym garnered such a reputation among nobility. He’s not nobleborn, but a tailor by profession.”

  “A tailor who can write?” asked Gwyn, surprised.

  “So it seems. He now runs a small printing shop in partnership with an inventor named Brioc Ffyr.”

  “A printing shop? That’s a peculiar profession outside of Crowwell. There aren’t enough literate people to support a shop of that nature, are there?”

  Lawen shook his head. “That might have been true a while back, but from what I’ve gathered, there’s been a movement in Charquae and neighboring towns to teach children to read and write. Even slaves are being educated. It seems Towwen Brym and Brioc Ffyr offer free lessons to anyone wishing to learn.”

  Gwyn lifted his brow. “That’s remarkable.”

  “And terrifying for some,” Lawen said. “Cadogan went off one evening about how literacy among the common folk will make it harder to control them. They can be more easily swayed by opinions not in keeping with the king’s philosophies.”

  “Such as Towwen Brym’s.” Gwyn rubbed his chin. “Does this extremist intend to promote open rebellion against the crown?”

  “People aren’t happy,” Lawen murmured. “The Order of Corvus recently closed Bayton’s gates to commerce, after they discovered several attempts to smuggle mage children from the port city. There’s been a lot of unrest.”

  Gwyn sighed. “Even you know of this. It seems the Crow King has kept me in virtual isolation in the north, but why? It isn’t as though I could stop the order or the people’s outrage.”

  “I think the Crow King is afraid of you, Gwynter. Your magic is strong, especially for a defensive mage, and especially as young as you are.”

  “Then why not kill me?” Gwyn’s fingers curled into fists. “Why this pretense, this charade? I know my magery is useful, but if he’s so concerned, he should have burned me at the stake. If that’s too public, he could order Traycen or another mage to end my life. It isn’t as though I’m invincible. I bleed as any other man.”

  “I confess,” said Lawen, “I’ve wondered the same thing. The Crow King sees you strangely, Gwynter. He doesn’t treat you as he does anyone else. It’s almost as though…” He hesitated. “I don’t know quite how to put this…It’s almost as though he’s in awe of you. He fears and reveres you. It’s just the feeling I get.”

  Gwyn met Lawen’s eyes as a tremor ran down his limbs. “I think I understand that. I feel the same way about him.”

  Lawen opened his mouth to speak but stopped. He shook his head with a sigh. “Are we truly alone, or does the Crow King watch you even now?”

  Gwyn shivered. “I don’t feel alone, but I can’t say it’s more than paranoia. When I hear the cry of a bird, or the beat of a wing, I flinch. Roving eyes alarm me. Whispers frighten me. Silence is worst of all.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I wish I knew why he sets me apart in his head. Why me? But perhaps it’s very simple: The Crow King is mad. A fallen Ilidreth. Does he need a reason at all?”

  Noon on the seventh day brought Gwyn and Lawen to the border of Vinwen’s estate. Broad fields of wheat stretched before them, shimmering like gold under the influence of a laughing breeze. Beyond the fields, on a familiar hillside, stood the manorhouse of Mount Vinwen under a brilliant Autumn sky.

  “I would race you,” Gwyn said, turning a grin on Lawen, “but I already know the outcome.”

  Lawen laughed. “You could give a man a sporting chance.”

  “Aye, but Aluem could not. When he races, he slows for no man.” Gwyn patted Aluem’s neck. “Shall we?”

  The unicorn broke into a full gallop along the road, stones flying behind him. Gwyn let out a whoop as wind filled his ears like rushing tides. Lawen called out to him, but he never looked back, eyes fixed on the high turrets of his home.

  Aluem carried him up the slope, past the gatehouse, straight to the front steps of the manor, where Gwyn swung to the ground. “Mother! Mother, I’m home!”

  Two slight figures burst through the front doors in matching dresses. They tripped down the steps and flung their arms around Gwyn’s waist.

  “Gwynny!” cried Sila.

  “You’re back, you’re back!” sobbed Neirin.

  A third figure appeared at the door, bringing Gwyn’s eyes up from his sisters. His grin widened. “Hello, Mother.”

  She descended the steps like flowing water, reached her hand up, and cupped it against Gwyn’s cheek. “My beautiful son, welcome.”

  The pounding of hooves sounded behind the party and all turned to watch Lawen canter toward them.

  Lawen waved. “Ho the house!”

  “Welcome home, Lawen,” Mother said, smiling as his horse came to a stop. “I see you’ve lost weight again. Cook will be delighted to fatten you up.” She turned back to Gwyn, eyes bright. “I suspect you eat like a horse these days to maintain your height. Will you ever stop growing?”

  Gwyn laughed as he turned to Aluem. “I must go inside and see the old place, my friend. I’ll come out later to make certain you’re comfortable, but please do as you wish meanwhile.”

  ‘I understand perfectly. Take your time and enjoy your home.’ Aluem trotted toward the stables as a servant ran to guide him.

  Gwyn wrapped an arm around his mother’s slight shoulders. Lawen seized her other side and together they drew her toward the front door. Neirin and Sila ran inside ahead of them, giggling.

  The family settled at the servant’s table in the large kitchen, rather than in the dining hall. Here, a merry fire roared in the hearth, and Cook presented more food than the little gathering could eat in a day. Still, Gwyn and Lawen did their best to clear the platters, while they listened to the little girls chattering about the goings-on in Vinwen province. Not much had changed in their view; if political unrest had arisen, Sila and Neirin remained ignorant.

  “I told Stefa not to ride that wild colt, but she wouldn’t hear of anything else,” Neirin said, sighing. “The problem is, she’s so nearly wild herself. Theolin said she’s pra
ctically an Ilidreth. Not like Kive, mind, but—”

  Gwyn started as Mother dropped her fork with a clatter. Gwyn looked sharply at Neirin. “You remember Kive?” After so long, he didn’t expect the child to remember the Ilidreth’s name so well she would reference it in natural conversation.

  “Of course I do. He ate live rats! No one else I’ve ever met does that. Nathaera mentioned—”

  “Bless you, child, but you do go on,” Mother said with a threat in her tone.

  Gwyn turned his gaze to the lady of the house. “There’s a secret among you.”

  “Easy, Gwyn,” Lawen murmured. “After the meal.”

  Gwyn turned on his brother. “You too?”

  “Down, boy,” Lawen replied, smiling grimly. “It’s not a secret by choice. Clean your plate and we’ll adjourn to the south parlor.”

  Chapter 39

  Seated among the furs and cushions in the south parlor, where a fire blazed to chase away the chill as evening set in, Gwyn stared at his mother and brother, waiting with what patience he could muster. Sila and Neirin had been banished upstairs.

  “You’re a much-scrutinized mage, Gwynter,” Mother said. “Nothing you do goes unnoticed these days. We couldn’t risk telling you something of a delicate nature until you arrived here. Even now, the danger is great. There is no way to tell if you’re watched in this very moment.”

  Gwyn’s annoyance shrank a little and he relaxed his shoulders. What she said made sense. “If the danger grows in my knowledge, must I learn it?”

  “You, more than anyone,” Lawen said. “It impacts you directly.”

  “You mean to tell me something of Nathaera,” Gwyn guessed.

  Mother and Lawen glanced at each other. Lawen shrugged. “He’s no fool.”

  “No, that he’s never been,” Mother said, sighing. “Only occasionally foolhardy.”

  “Tell me,” Gwyn said. “I’ve ached for news of her. Is she safe? Did she sail the channel to Fraelin?”