The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

  Thin fingers of sunlight stretched between dark clouds as dawn ascended. The Winter Army stood on the border of the tiny hamlet, the scent of wood smoke strong on the air. Not a soul in Trayton stirred. Rohkye sat on his gelding beside King Gwynter’s fair horse, assessing the ordered state of Trayton. That came as no surprise, for the hamlet had been erected in recent years and named after one of the Crow King’s closest advisers: Traycen ren Lotelon, well known for his organizational skills, tactfulness, and precision. Each house in Trayton looked roughly the same size and style, leaving no room for personality. Upon visiting the hamlet a few days ago, Rohkye had determined he would despise living in such a place. How could he tell the difference between his home and someone else’s, for Afallon’s sake?

  Aluem shifted, drawing Rohkye’s focus from the buildings back to his king. Gwynter sat upon Aluem, gray eyes scanning the area with such severity, such alertness, Rohkye tensed in response. Gwynter must be the most disciplined youth Rohkye had ever seen; and he’d seen plenty of youths in former days of tutoring the nobles in Crowwell.

  Among his caste, Gwynter was exceptional. Not for his looks, though he was comely—or for his charm, though he was polite and kind—but for his intellect and air of command. Gwynter stood taller than most, and he used his height instinctively to cow dissenters.

  Rohkye had first beheld Gwynter when the youthful commander had entered Crowwell following a successful campaign in the north, shortly before he’d declared war against the Crow King. At the time, over a year ago, Gwynter had ridden on the back of his white horse into the capital city, half of his men in accompaniment—the other half dead or missing—and Rohkye had been struck by the authority in Gwynter’s bearing, his sharp eyes, and severe expression. Rohkye had shuddered to consider what this boy would grow into under the guiding hand of the Crow King. What nations might topple beneath Gwynter ren Terare’s scrutiny? Would he become Traycen ren Lotelon’s successor, only to transform into a more terrifying specter?

  Shortly thereafter, following a birthday celebration in Crow Castle, Gwynter had left Crowwell in company with his brother, and only a month had passed before word reached Crowwell of Gwynter’s dissension. What had changed? At first, Rohkye couldn’t guess, but he recalled well the severity of the boy’s presence, and he feared for Simaerin; for though Rohkye held no love for his sovereign king or the ruling class, he feared far more the reign of the Crow King’s student. Rohkye went that very day to a chapel and prayed for deliverance from tyranny. There he encountered a priest named Rindermarr Lorric, who had listened to Rohkye’s fears and laughed them away.

  “That boy was never the king’s man,” said the priest, clapping Rohkye upon the back. “He served under threat alone, and that accounted for what frightened you. One does not long suppress a ren Terare’s spirit!” The priest had urged Rohkye to leave Crowwell, ride to Mount Vinwen, and join himself to the dissenter’s cause. In what Rohkye then believed to be a bout of madness, he had obeyed the priest, and rode as quickly as he might into the rebel camp to declare himself before a much different young man than he’d remembered. Gwynter ren Terare had smiled in a soft, kindly way, and welcomed Rohkye into his service warmly.

  Since becoming Gwynter’s aide, Rohkye had seen the boy in his moments of strength and weakness, been privy to his private suffering as few others, and now Rohkye could declare this young commander stood as a man among men, better equipped in his humility to lead Simaerin than any king within the world. While Gwynter was inexperienced, he was also steadfast and quick to learn. The day Gwynter took the throne of Simaerin, the world would change.

  And now I witness his path to achieve that height.

  “There.”

  Rohkye followed Gwynter’s finger and spotted a banner bobbing on the far side of the hamlet. The signal that General Haratin’s men were in position.

  Gwynter took a deep, steadying breath. “Afallon be with us.” He drew his sword and raised it high. A heartbeat passed, and he dropped his sword forward, ordering the attack to commence. He said no word, gave no shout, for that would alert the Heshi. The Winter Army surged forward, hooves thundering, feet beating the earth, snow flying behind the charging force.

  Someone in the hamlet shouted. Two men darted from one house to race toward the central building.

  Rohkye galloped behind Gwynter, Aleteer on the king’s other side, having finished his gruesome task in the guardhouse twenty minutes before. Rohkye nocked an arrow and let it loose, satisfied as his target fell screaming before the door of the central building. The second Heshi fell to Aleteer’s feathered projectile in the next second. General Haratin’s forces appeared even as half-dressed Heshi officers stumbled from the houses, swords in hand.

  The Heshi commander burst through the door of his quarters, sword drawn, only to find half of his men running pell-mell before his eyes, while others had dropped their weapons in surrender.

  Enraged, the Heshi commander shouted savagely in a foreign tongue and charged Gwynter upon his white horse, but Aluem lowered his head and charged the man back. The Heshi commander fell with a cry, chest drenched in blood, though Gwynter’s sword remained clean.

  Rohkye stared at the sight, then looked around at the Heshi soldiers.

  “Who here will sound the surrender for your commander?” demanded Gwynter, trotting forward. “I will allow no more bloodshed this day. Speak!”

  A man wearing only his trousers came forward and spoke in guttural tones.

  “He is second in command,” said a youthful voice. Rohkye glanced behind him as Gwynter turned toward the source. Prince Fayett rode forward, grimly smiling. “He speaks for the Heshi in his commander’s death, and he begs a peaceful surrender.”

  Gwynter nodded curtly. “He shall have it, once all his weapons are confiscated.”

  Prince Fayett repeated the order in the same guttural tones.

  The man nodded and barked orders at his men. Soon a mountain of swords, sheathes, knives, bows, and arrows piled before Gwynter.

  “Lawen,” said Gwynter, and his brother rode forward. “See to the supplies. Find out what we can feed our soldiers. Sir Bened.” The knight came next. “Count our soldiers and tell me how many we’ve lost. Mershen, see to the prisoners. Get an exact count. Haratin, secure the perimeter and watch the roads for any sign of the Crow’s army. Rohkye, Aleteer, see to any person residing in Trayton who is not a Heshi soldier. Do not let them come to harm.”

  Rohkye started at once for the nearest door. Soon it became clear that any common folk who once inhabited Trayton had gone elsewhere. Upon reporting the news to Gwynter, who had taken up temporary residence in the central building, Rohkye stood at his king’s side and listened to Lord Lawen’s report of supplies.

  “It won’t last very long, but our men will have a decent meal tonight and in the week to follow, even if we feed the Heshi prisoners. I’ve already given orders for none of the men to raid the supply house or wagons, and I’ve taken the liberty of flogging anyone who attempted to rob the Heshi as well.”

  Gwynter nodded. “Good. We can’t become thieves under any circumstances.”

  Bened Arnnor entered, expression grim.

  Gwynter straightened in his chair. “Well, Sir Knight? How many?”

  “Of the Heshi, twenty-two men were killed in the skirmish. Of our own number, two froze during last night’s march. In the skirmish, sire…none fell.”

  Gwynter blinked. Rohkye looked between the two men.

  “None?”

  Arnnor nodded. “We lost not a single man in combat, sire.”

  Gwyn sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks be to Afallon.”

  Chapter 14

  During the battle, if so it could be called, Nathaera stood beside Kive on the outskirts of the hamlet, her eyes fastened on Gwyn. She watched his quick movements as he barked out commands during the engagement, and she nearly screamed when the Heshi commander charged him—though she felt silly when Aluem skewered the man with his horn.
Gwyn was always safe upon the unicorn’s back, not to mention the protection of his defensive magic. Aluem had claimed him as his kin and held a ceremony before the Winter Army had left the hills of Vinwen to begin their long and tedious war against the Crow King.

  Nathaera envied Aluem his place in Gwyn’s heart. She only wished she could be as dear to him, even if Gwyn only saw her as a sister. Anything was better than being kept apart.

  Her mind slithered back to the kiss upon the banks of the Delesar, and she chewed her lip. Don’t think about that. You don’t know that it meant anything! He might’ve been delirious with fever. Yes, that was it. Nothing had come of his actions since, after all.

  “My lady?”

  She turned and smiled at Adesta as he approached, a grin on his lips, eyes gleaming.

  “You look proud of yourself, my lord.”

  He laughed, but his smile faded. “You’ve been standing here for quite a while, though we’ve taken the…” he gestured to the few buildings, “…village, is it?”

  “Hamlet, which is smaller than a village, though I hope that doesn’t weaken your victory.” She laughed.

  He shook his head. “We’ve outwitted the Heshi, so-called strongest army in the world. I shall accept no ridicule, not even from you, my lady.”

  “And I shall provide no further ridicule. Gwyn was brilliant to attack as he did.”

  His grin slipped a little. “It was a bold and ingenious move.”

  “Is something wrong?” asked Nathaera, tilting her head.

  “Rabbit is sad,” murmured Kive, and stroked Adesta’s fair hair with his slender fingers.

  The Fraeli nobleman stiffened. “Please Kive, don’t pet me. Especially with those fingers. How many times must I ask you?” He sighed. “Nothing is wrong—save perhaps Kive’s hygiene—but I would inquire if my lady has decided yet?”

  Nathaera winced and turned away. “Oh, Adesta. I told you already, I can’t yet. Not amid everything. I—I just need to think a little longer.”

  “I understand, and I’ll wait as long as I must, but I fear for a less than favorable answer, and…I long to hear otherwise.”

  Nathaera twisted her skirt around her finger. “I’m not ready yet, my lord. Give me more time.”

  “Of course, my lady. I am sorry to pressure you. I won’t inquire again.”

  She turned to watch him walk away, then let out a gasp. “Why do men do that, Kive?”

  “Men?” asked Kive. His eyes followed Adesta’s retreating figure. “Do you mean Rabbit, Fairy Wren? What did Rabbit do, Fairy Wren? Shall I eat him?”

  “No, no, Kive. Remember, you don’t eat rabbits anymore.”

  “Oh yes. I forgot.” He turned from Adesta, interest lost. “Fairy Wren?”

  “Yes, Kive?”

  “Are you upset, Fairy Wren?”

  She sighed and squatted down to hug her knees. “Yes, Kive. I am. Adesta—Rabbit wants Fairy Wren to marry him, but Fairy Wren can’t, you see. She’s in love with someone else. Someone who doesn’t feel the same way. And while Fairy Wren could never marry Rabbit under those conditions, and though Fairy Wren is very used to speaking her mind—even when it’s a terrible idea—for some reason Fairy Wren can’t tell Rabbit no! It’s so difficult, when I know I’ll only break his heart, and he has such a good heart. I don’t think I could sleep once I saw his face twisted in agony. Oh, why do men have to look so earnest in their declaration and then so devastated when they’re rejected? What makes them so confident that they can just ask a woman such an important thing without first knowing the heart of the other?”

  She paused as she recalled her own declaration of love to Gwyn. Unheralded, unrequited, unwanted.

  “I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “Fairy Wrens do that too. How silly of us all. Why do people fall in love?”

  “It’s rather inconvenient, is it not, my lady?”

  Not Kive’s voice. She yelped and jumped to her feet to whirl around. Bened Arnnor stood before her, a faint smile on his lips.

  She rested a hand over her galloping heart. “You startled me, Sir Knight.”

  “My heartfelt apologies, my lady. That was not my intent.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “if you meant to announce yourself, there are better ways.”

  “Again, forgive me.”

  Her heartbeat slowed a little. “It seems you inflicted no permanent damage, so I will forgive you wholly, sir. But pray, what brings you out here? Aren’t the officers attending the king?”

  Bened Arnnor hesitated. “So they are, but I am recently demoted, and felt a little out of place and rather useless, so I escaped the close confines of the interior.”

  She glanced at the central building. “Your demotion, sir—does it make you bitter?”

  “No, my lady. The king’s judgment was just.” He inclined his head. “Allow me to take this opportunity to formally introduce myself, though it’s hardly proper. I am Sir Bened Arnnor of Glashon.”

  She grinned. “Oh, in the wilds of Simaerin, perhaps this is the proper way, else no one would know anybody. I am—”

  “Lady Nathaera ren Lotelon, Lord Traycen’s only daughter, am I right?”

  She blinked. “Yes. You are. Have we—”

  “I’ve seen you at court, though we’ve never spoken,” Bened said, lowering his eyes. “My father has had dealings with Lord ren Lotelon frequently. You were lately betrothed to Sir Windsur ren Cloven of Yastport.”

  “That was nearly two years ago, sir. I’ve heard he’s since become betrothed to another maiden. One of unequaled beauty.”

  Bened nodded, dark eyes gleaming. “Ah, yes. The lady Arianwen ren Targeth.”

  Nathaera nodded, recalling the willowy, raven-haired young woman of House Targeth. Arianwen seemed an otherworldly creature, so quiet, sweet, and composed, every other lady at court envied her appearance and decorum, for both were impossible to mimic or mock. Nathaera envied the lady’s height, though not the pallor of her skin or the sorrow etched in her face.

  “She’s such a solemn girl,” Nathaera said. “Windsur will ruin her.”

  Bened smiled faintly. “He seems an amiable man.”

  “True, so he does seem. But seeming is not the same as being, and while Windsur is quite good at being many things, what he seems is not one of them.”

  “Would you call him a scoundrel, then?” asked Bened, his eyes wide while a teasing smile twitched at his mouth.

  “Once, I wouldn’t dare. But, bless Afallon, I’m free of the creature and so I must confess I suspected him of such. You may tease, sir, but truth will out, now or someday.”

  Bened’s smile fell away. “Do you believe the lady Arianwen to be in any danger?”

  “Nay,” said Nathaera, shaking her head. “Not straight away, for appearances matter to Windsur above all else. He would never harm her before the marriage. After that, I shudder to consider…and to think, not long ago I was bound to him. The treacherous snake!”

  “Come, come,” said Bened. “Surely you exaggerate, my lady.”

  She sighed. “I know nothing for certain, but the rumors were thick around Crowwell. He has never ventured to steal the virtue of a noblewoman, but he’s rather fond of scullery maids, and knowing what I do of his impatience and his temper, I believe those rumors now that I’m not overshadowed by any promise. But listen to me! Gossiping as other ladies at court. I confess, it feels relieving to say it aloud. I’ve always feared marrying Windsur, but it was a matter of fact, unalterable. So I thought.”

  Bened arched an eyebrow. “So, then. You do not regret being disowned by your father and your House to live the grueling life of, well, a soldier, my lady?”

  She laughed softly. “Indeed not, sir. Do you?”

  He smiled. “I suppose you’re right. The cause is just, and the sacrifices: worthy cost.”

  “You seem very concerned for Lady Arianwen,” said Nathaera, torn between teasing him and genuine concern. “Is she special to you, sir?”

  “T
hat lady? Nay. I hardly know her. But I fear for anyone clutched in the claws of a scoundrel, no matter how sullen her disposition.”

  The sound of feet approaching brought Nathaera around. One of Gwyn’s aides stopped just short of the two.

  “Sir Bened?” asked Rohkye, bowing. “His Majesty would like a word with you.”

  “Very well, I’ll be right there.” Bened bowed to Nathaera. “I will take my leave for now, my lady.”

  “Good day to you, sir.” Nathaera curtsied.

  The knight strode away, black cloak billowing in the chill wind.

  “Fairy Wren?”

  She blinked and turned. “Kive, were you still here?”

  “No, Fairy Wren. I was there.” The fallen fae pointed to a pile of chopped wood beside the nearest hut. “Hiding from the rat.”

  “Hiding, Kive? You didn’t want to eat him?”

  “No, Fairy Wren. Not that rat. Nooo.” He shuddered.

  Frowning, Nathaera cocked her head. “Because that rat is on our side?”

  “Side, Fairy Wren?”

  “Er, because the rat fights with Shiny. For him. Um. Because he protects Shiny, that’s why you don’t want to eat him, right?”

  “Rat doesn’t protect Shiny,” Kive said, and hissed.

  “Yes, he does. He came here to help, Kive.”

  Kive vigorously shook his head. “No. Nooo. No, Fairy Wren. Rat is with Crow.”

  Nathaera laughed. “Oh, of course. Yes, Kive, he used to work for the Crow King. So did Shiny, and a lot of other people. But now they oppose him.”

  Kive shook his head again. “Not that rat, Fairy Wren.”

  Nathaera’s smile faded. “Kive, are you…are you certain? That rat works for the Crow King? Bened does?” She pointed toward the far-off knight as he slipped inside the central building.

  The fallen Ilidreth turned toward the woodpile. “Caught in the web of a juicy spider. Maybe not a rat at all. Maybe a fly. Small, juicy fly. Flying, flying, flying. Caught!” Kive snatched at the air, though it was too cold for any flies to be buzzing about.