by K. C. Herbel
“What has happened?” asked Hugh, reading the summons. “Why does the king need me so ‘urgently’?”
“I can not say,” repeated the messenger.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Luke, sir.”
“Luke, you must tell me what happened. Is there trouble?”
“I was instructed not to say anything,” answered Luke.
“By whom?” asked Lady Myrredith.
“By the King’s First Counselor, milady.”
“Ergyfel!” exclaimed Hugh, Myrredith, and Malcolm in unison.
The page looked sheepishly at them and nervously took a step towards his horse.
“I thought I smelled a snake,” mumbled Malcolm.
“He’s up to something,” said Myrredith.
“Aye,” agreed Hugh, “he wouldn’t want me back there unless he was ready to play an extraordinary move.”
“Move?” asked Malcolm.
“The magister and I are playing a gwyddbwyll game of sorts.”
“Then he must hope to declare cyning daith.”
Hugh’s face fell. “King’s death,” he muttered. “Let’s hope not.”
“Hugh,” said Lady Myrredith, “don’t go.”
“I must,” said Hugh. “It is my king who calls.”
“I will go with you,” said the Lady of Cyndyn Hall.
“No. You must bury your husband. So far, the king is only interested in me.”
“Perhaps you’d fancy my company?” offered Malcolm.
“I can handle Ergyfel. I need you to see to Lady Myrredith’s safety.”
“Aye,” said Malcolm solemnly, “that I will do.”
In this fashion, Sir Hugh found himself in the company of Luke, the close-lipped page, a mere half day’s ride from his king. Luke had remained amazingly steadfast to his oath of silence, and Hugh did not press him. The King’s Champion knew what it was to be a page. He remembered the tremendous pressures to perform and the constant scrutiny. However, Luke was taking the whole thing far too strictly. He never engaged Hugh in conversation except to answer the most perfunctory of questions and give courteous thanks. It was as if the boy were afraid to speak, lest an open mouth betray some terrible secret. This greatly troubled Hugh. The last time someone had approached him with such trepidation it was to tell him of his mother’s death.
As Hugh spurred Splendore on towards Orgulous, he pondered what secret lurked in the mind of the boy riding next to him. The sound of approaching horses interrupted his thoughts. Hugh looked up the road and saw three of his fellow knights rounding the bend at top speed.
“Whoa, Splendore,” said Hugh, bringing his mount to a stop.
The knights continued down the road and stopped a few yards ahead of Hugh. Sir Owein greeted the King’s Champion as the dust settled.
“Hail, Sir Hugh,” said the knight.
“Hail, Owein,” answered Hugh, using the familiar. Then he smiled and nodded to the other two knights. “Gareth, Darn. Where is it you go in such a hurry, my friends?”
“Friends he says,” spoke Darn harshly.
“Darn!” said Owein warningly.
Hugh inspected the three men, taking note of the unusual distance between them and the slightly defensive posture that each of them had taken. “Aye, friends,” he said reassuringly. He edged his horse forward, narrowing the gap between them. “For what reason should I not address such good comrades thusly?”
Sir Owein spoke to Luke. “He doesn’t know?”
“Know what?” asked Hugh, looking at the page.
“No sir,” answered Luke.
Again Owein addressed the messenger. “You didn’t tell him?”
“No sir.”
“Tell me what?” asked Hugh.
Sir Owein eyed Hugh then moved his horse in close beside Splendore. “Princess Kathryn and Prince Gaelyn are dead.”
“What?” exclaimed Sir Hugh.
“Murdered by an assassin.”
Hugh could say nothing. His mind reeled, as did his body. He started to fall from his horse. At the last second, Sir Owein grabbed his arm, steadying him. Hugh closed his eyes and swallowed hard. There was an ache in his chest, an empty, heavy anguish he had not felt since the day he lost Myrredith to Aonghas. A torrent of tears threatened to flood his eyes, but disbelief kept them in check.
Owein, who still clasped his arm, leaned closer and spoke softly to his shaken comrade. “That is not all, my brother.”
Hugh swallowed again and straightened his back. His entire body stiffened, bracing for another blow.
“Billy stands accused.”
“No!” shot Hugh.
“Ergyfel’s got evidence . . .”
“It’s a lie!” rebuked Hugh.
“Don’t you think I know,” started Owein, “that I want to believe—but I . . . I don’t know what to believe. The evidence . . .”
“It’s a lie, I tell you!” shouted Hugh. “A lie! If it came from Ergyfel, you can be sure of it!”
“Regardless,” said Darn, “the king has pronounced his judgment, and we have all been sent to catch him.”
“Catch who?” asked Hugh.
“Billy escaped sometime during the night,” admitted Owein.
“From Orgulous?”
“Aye,” answered Gareth.
“And the king has sent you three to catch him?”
“Not just we three,” said Darn.
“Ergyfel commissioned all the knights in Orgulous,” added Gareth.
“Ergyfel?” exclaimed Hugh.
“Yes, Ergyfel,” answered Owein.
“Since when does Ergyfel command the king’s knights?”
Owein squeezed Hugh’s arm. “The king’s illness has worsened tremendously.”
“Yes, I’ll bet it has,” spat Hugh, “and I know just who’s responsible for that!”
Hugh jerked his arm away from Sir Owein’s grasp and prepared to speed away to Castle Orgulous. Before he could move, Owein grabbed him again.
“My friend, my friend, my brother!” said Owein, forcing Hugh to look at him. “Let me give you a warning. I know what you’re thinking, and you had better get that idea out of your head right now!”
Hugh gritted his teeth and stared at he friend. Sir Owein was taken aback by the feral look in Hugh’s eyes.
Calm, yet firmly, Sir Owein continued. “Things are different than you might expect, my friend—my brother. The balance of the court has already shifted in favor of Ergyfel. You will not be given your usual due.”
“I am the King’s Champion,” said Hugh, regaining some of his composure. “If I do not confront him, then who will?”
“Hugh,” said Owein, “because of our friendship, I must give you yet another warning . . . Billy does not stand charged alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ergyfel has implied . . . that you and Lady Myrredith might have . . .”
Hugh’s face reddened at the mention of Myrredith. He snapped his arm away from Owein and swatted Splendore with the reins. Instantly the high-spirited stead charged away, leaving the three knights and page flat-footed in the road.
As the worried page hurried after his charge, Sir Owein shouted after them. “Hugh!” he cried. “Arm yourself with reason! With reason!”
Owein, Gareth, and Darn waited in the road a moment, watching Sir Hugh and Luke disappear around the curve. They looked at each other solemnly.
“Come,” said Owein, shaking his head. “We three distinguished knights of the realm have a small boy to catch . . . and unfortunately, I think I know where he’s headed.”
Chapter XXIII
On Fate’s Path
Billy rode like never before, pushing himself beyond his limits. Briallen, Prince Gaelyn’s horse, gave him her all, responding to her new rider like an old friend. The prince would have been proud.
To Erin, thought Billy, but first home. The instant he made this decision, he felt oddly torn. I must fetch Father, so we can go to the Emerald Is
le together. However, something within him advised against it—urging him instead to go straight to Erin. At first it was a queer, uneasy feeling, and he shrugged it off as a case of nerves, but then it grew stronger and seemed to speak to him. He listened, and without warning he heard his mother’s voice.
Stay away from that place, said the voice. It isn’t safe. Go directly to the Emerald Isle.
Gradually Billy realized that it was his mother’s ring trying to warn him away. He focused on the strange thoughts it projected into his consciousness until he bridled them to his will.
“We are going home,” he stated, “and that’s final!”
There was no more dissension. There were however quiet warnings. Several times Billy felt a prickling on the back of his neck and got off the road. Each time, a moment would pass, and then someone would come up the road. In this way, he managed to avoid any contact, but waiting in hiding and traveling so cautiously slowed his progress.
Billy decided to stay away from the main roads and travel under the cover of darkness. He wasn’t sure which way to go, having journeyed through this country only once in his life. Also, traveling at night made navigation nearly impossible. However, Billy kept his mind focused on John and the Valley of the Yew. The ring did the rest.
It wasn’t easy to let go and allow the ring to guide him, but after a day or two he learned to trust it. He also began to believe in destiny, which seemed determined to map out the path for his life whether he liked it or not.
When he wasn’t concentrating on home, Billy wrestled with his new identity. Accepting King William as his father could have been easy, and in some ways wonderful, if the king wasn’t also his mother’s murderer. He felt the urge to cut out the part of him that came from his father, but of course this was impossible.
Billy felt betrayed. He hated King William. It didn’t matter that his father had been under the influence of Ergyfel’s magic. A hero such as King William was supposed to be beyond the reach of such evil, but he had been weak!
Most of all, Billy hated his new identity as the son of a murderer. It was the first time in his life that he truly hated something about himself. In time, Billy had come to accept his imperfect body, but this was not something he could just learn to tailor around. It was too important—too reprehensible—to ignore. Billy knew he could not change the past, but he felt that if he were to live with himself, he would have to set his father’s wrongs to right. The question was, how?
One night, as Billy crossed over a ridge, the light of a campfire struck his eyes. He reined Briallen to a stop. At the bottom of the hill lay the King’s Road. A small caravan camped beside the road, made up of two wagons and a number of horses. The entire entourage was clad in black, including the wagons. Several men slept around a fire in the center of the camp, while others kept watch. Billy was about to turn Briallen and go quietly around the camp when he spotted Malcolm the Magnificent. The last time Billy had seen his mentor was in the company of Lady Myrredith, as she left for Hillshire. In answer to his thoughts, Myrredith appeared from one of the wagons. Billy dismounted and quietly worked his way down the hill.
Billy came up behind the horse line, remaining hidden in the bushes. He scanned the area to get the position of the guards and then turned his attention to Lady Myrredith.
“Where do you think he is?” Lady Myrredith asked Malcolm.
The juggling master uncrossed his arms and looked away from the fire. “In Orgulous, I imagine.”
“I hope . . .” said Lady Myrredith, not finishing her statement.
“Don’t worry, milady,” said Malcolm, “Hugh can take care of himself.”
Billy searched for Splendore Pomponnel. The horse and its rider were nowhere to be seen.
“I wonder what could have been so important?” asked Myrredith.
I know, thought Billy.
“The king’s messenger wasn’t very informative,” complained Malcolm.
“Aye,” agreed Lady Myrredith, “that’s what worries me.”
“Try not to let it trouble you.”
“When Aonghas is buried I must go back,” stated Lady Myrredith.
“To Orgulous?”
“Yes. I have the feeling I’m needed there.”
“We’ve made good time. We reach Dyven day after tomorrow,” said Malcolm. “If you will allow me, I would accompany you back.”
Lady Myrredith looked at the juggling master for a moment, considering his offer. “Why, Malcolm?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon, milady.”
“Why are you going out of your way for me?”
“Out of my way? Oh, no! I was goin’ back to Orgulous already.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” affirmed Malcolm. “The king seemed to appreciate my talents more than I imagined he would.”
“He did reward you rather well,” stated Lady Myrredith. “There’s no other reason why you wish to go back?”
“Your Ladyship,” started Malcolm, “I have traveled most of my life, performing here and there, for king and commoner alike. I have made many friends in my journeys, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Please excuse my forwardness, milady, but I have never felt a kinship to anyone, like I feel for you and Sir Hugh, and of course Billy.”
Myrredith smiled. “I miss William too.”
“He’s more than my best student,” said Malcolm. “He’s the son I never had.”
Myrredith laughed.
“What is it?” asked Malcolm, baffled.
“Your feeling of kinship is not groundless, for Billy has also filled in the place of the brother I lost so many years ago.”
“Then in spirit, milady, we are kin.”
“Quite. What’s more, as soon as Kathryn assumes the throne, Billy will legally become a Cyndyn, and my brother.”
Malcolm looked shocked. “Does he know?”
Lady Myrredith nodded. “Malcolm, please forgive me. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. It’s just that, Hugh told me how you slew that giant, and then this mysterious summons, and . . . I guess I’m just being suspicious. I apologize.”
“No apology needed, milady,” said Malcolm with a bow. “I too have been . . . on edge, since Sir Hugh’s departure.”
Lady Myrredith and her companion fell silent. Billy so wanted to come forward and tell them everything. He wanted to warn them away from Orgulous, but he knew that he could not. To show himself would put them all in worse danger.
“Well, good night,” said Lady Myrredith at last.
“Good night, milady,” answered Malcolm.
Billy watched them walk to opposite ends of the camp, and then he stole to Lady Myrredith’s wagon. While she conversed with Rhianna, he crept into the wagon and retrieved some parchment and writing implements. Billy then slunk away from the camp and wrote Myrredith a letter.
“Lady Myrredith,” it read, “It pains me to inform you that Princess Kathryn and Prince Gaelyn have been murdered. Ergyfel was behind it and has also poisoned King William. The king still holds on, but the court is rallying to Ergyfel. Your friend Billy has been wrongly accused of the crimes, but do not fear, for he has escaped. You must be very careful. Ergyfel has tried to blame you and Sir Hugh too. He will stop at nothing to gain the throne. Castle Orgulous is too dangerous for you. For your safety, and the safety of the kingdom, do not go there!” Billy signed the letter, “A friend.”
Billy folded the letter and tiptoed back to the wagon, using all his stalking skills to remain undetected. Lady Myrredith was now inside, so he very carefully laid the letter on the seat of the wagon and placed a rock on top of it. Then once again, he silently skulked into the trees.
Billy found Briallen exactly where he had left her. He quickly led her around the camp and mounted. As he gave the campsite in the little valley below a last glance, he realized this might be the last time he ever saw Lady Myrredith. Reluctantly he turned away.
“Take me away from here,” he whispered to Brial
len.
The mare obligingly trotted down the hill, disappearing with her rider into a forest of shadows.
Chapter XXIV
War
Sir Hugh stormed into Castle Orgulous a full hour ahead of Luke. Despite the warnings of Owein, Hugh did not allow wisdom to alter his disposition. Instead, his temper had raged hotter with each league he covered. By the time he crossed through the gates of Orgulous he was a conflagration out of control. Attempts to stop or delay him were swept aside—insignificant as dry leaves to a hurricane.
Hugh burst into King William’s great hall unannounced. The two giant doors slammed open with a mighty crash that turned every head to face the entry. Hugh marched into the hall, as some would say later, “a man possessed.”
“Ergyfel!” shouted Hugh as he crossed the long hall to the dais. His face was a mass of taught, grim sinew.
Not a word was spoken as noble and servant alike made way for Hugh’s advance. His movements were strong, fluid and sure as an angry lion. Beneath the ridge of his scowling forehead, his wrathful eyes bore through any who were before him. He made a baleful, fearsome sight.
Suddenly Hugh stopped cold. His posture stiffened, and his face changed to an expression of disbelief. Then instantly, his angry mask reappeared, and his hand slapped the hilt of his sword. “How dare you sit on the king’s throne?” he shouted.
All eyes flashed to Ergyfel who lounged in King William’s throne. Coolly he changed his position and returned Sir Hugh’s stare.
“It is you, Sir Hugh, who dares much,” said Ergyfel.
“You are the king’s counselor . . .”
“And his heir!” shot Ergyfel.
“But you are still not king!” spat Hugh.
“Not yet, Champion,” said the magister, “but while he is ill I speak for him and will act for him.”
“Get off the throne, Ergyfel,” said Hugh, biting off his words.
Ergyfel’s left eye squinted as he glared at the King’s Champion. “Very well,” he said standing. “If it will make you happy, I will oblige.”
“Where is the king?” asked Sir Hugh, staring levelly at Ergyfel.
“He is resting.”
Hugh turned and scanned the room, looking into the faces of the lords present. “Where is your king?” he asked. “Only the king can call a council of the lords.” He stopped when he came to the ambassador from Gwyddea, who had been speaking when Hugh interrupted the court. “Ambassador Snegaddrick,” Hugh said with a curt bow, “I’m sure the king will hear your petition, when he personally reconvenes his court.”