The Silent Shield (The Kingfountain Series Book 5)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Duke Fallon means well,” Staeli said with a nod. “I encountered him and his hunter on the way here.”

  Trynne looked up from the map, her nose wrinkling. “He was alone.”

  Staeli sniffed, shaking his head. “No, he was with a hunter from Dundrennan. I recognized the lad, although he’s older now. I fought with your father and Captain Ashby at the battle that deposed Severn Argentine. The lad is in his thirties now, a man grown. Carrick. He’s Fountain-blessed. The lad is famous for his tracking.”

  A feeling of dread opened inside Trynne’s chest. Both she and the captain knew what mission had brought Carrick to Brythonica in the past. He had been sent to search the grove where her father had disappeared—to no avail.

  “Where did you see them?” she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.

  “They were leaving the road that cuts through the woods with the grove,” Staeli said, folding his arms. “I take it they didn’t have your permission to be there.”

  Unfolding his arms, he stretched out his hand and tapped his finger on the forest that held the magic bowl and the stone altar. It was labeled as a royal hunting wood on the map. There was no other marking to give it significance, but of course the captain didn’t need to be told. Her father had assigned him to be protector of Brythonica—and the grove—should anything happen to him. While she didn’t like to think of it, the captain wore the ring that went with the station.

  The one that had been found on her father’s severed hand.

  I must get away from this prison. The man with the silver mask’s body is crumpled on the floor. I did not intend to overpower him, but the thought came to me so forcefully, especially when he used an artifact of magic on me. I felt its power emanating from him like a storm. He was frantic, muttering something about the need to move me in the next few days. The dungeon where I’m being kept is about to be overrun. I must be moved and moved quickly. He tried to use his power to make me submissive and afraid. But it could not affect me. It was strange, because I felt its force and understood his intent, but it did not compel me to do his bidding. The jailor had left us alone together.

  When he saw his power did not move me, the man in the mask grew frightened of me. How did I know? The mask hid his expression. It’s just that I knew his weakness, knew that he was intimidated by me. So I struck him with the chains. He crumpled to the floor. If I could remove these chains, I could take his silver mask and cloak and make him wear my meager clothing and mask. The jailor wouldn’t know that he was being deceived. It might give me a chance to escape, to find help from whoever is coming. The jailor has the keys. How can I remove them?

  There was a whisper. A single word. The chains have opened. But there is no one else here with me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Breaking

  It was the day of the Gauntlet of Kingfountain and Trynne longed with all her heart to be there. But she knew it was the Fountain’s will that she remain behind. She didn’t understand it, but she accepted it. She gazed out the window of the solar, ignoring the plate of food that had been set before her as the evening meal. She’d lost her appetite completely after the carriage crash. Every mouthful was difficult, and she found herself doing little more than picking at the plates set before her.

  One of the reasons she wanted to be at Kingfountain was to confront Fallon, to demand to know why he had spied on the sacred grove of Brythonica. After Captain Staeli had told her of their encounter, she had traveled to the grove through the ley lines. The silver dish, which she’d feared would be missing, was chained to the marble slab. The stone table was littered with detritus from the oak tree. She had searched the entire grove, including the cave set into the boulders where Myrddin had been trapped for centuries. But there was no evidence that either Fallon or Carrick had removed anything. Still, the intrusion had once again damaged her confidence in him.

  She had since received letters of condolence from the king and queen, written personally by them and not by scribes. She recognized their handwriting and appreciated the comforting words. There was also a note from Morwenna, expressing her deepest sympathies and shared grief. She wrote about how fond she’d always been of the little one and how she knew Trynne must be suffering.

  Gazing out the window, Trynne stared at the wall of sea fog out in the harbor past the beach of sea glass. This was not unusual in Brythonica. The rich sea mists regularly flowed inland and helped provide moisture for the thriving plants in the fields. But something about it reminded her of the night her father had disappeared, the night of the Battle of Guilme, and a feeling of nervous agitation grew inside her. She sent for Thierry.

  He arrived, looking wearied by his duties, and his face fell further, if that were possible, when he saw her nearly full plate. “My lady, you must eat!” he implored.

  “I will, Thierry. I want you to make sure the night watch is vigilant tonight. It looks like there will be fog.”

  Thierry nodded. “Fog is a good thing. The shores of Brythonica are deadly to seamen who are unfamiliar with them. If you get caught in the wrong tide, a ship will crash on the rocks.”

  Trynne was not comforted by his words. “I have no doubt that our enemies have extensive maps of our coastline. They may have even gotten the tide schedules from the Genevese.”

  “Genevar would never betray us!”

  “Not willingly, perhaps. In the House of Pillars this morning, it was reported that no vessels from Genevar have landed in Ploemeur in the last two days. Did any arrive today?”

  Thierry looked at her blankly. “I don’t know.”

  “When you give the order for the night watch, please see if you can find out.”

  “As you will, my lady. Please . . . eat some food.” He said it with a look of worried tenderness.

  Trynne nodded, but she rose from the table as soon as he left and paced by the window, watching the wall of fog. It would mute a dazzling sunset. She went back and took a morsel of bread and slowly bit into it, forcing herself. Then she opened the balcony window and stepped out, feeling the chill of the sea breeze cut through her gown.

  Had the Gauntlet been completed yet? Who had won? Part of her wanted Fallon to win the role he coveted so much. Part of her hoped one of the Oath Maidens like Mariette had claimed it instead, just to spite him. The sun was probably setting over Kingfountain at that very moment. Should she steal away through the ley lines just to find out the news?

  A heavy, strangling feeling followed the thought. It felt wrong—very wrong. Trynne frowned, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame, and shivered.

  And that was when she saw the first row of ships emerging in a line from the bank of fog.

  The main hall of the palace in Ploemeur was thronged with people. The citizenry who lived down below were hunkered in their homes, doors bolted. They were all praying to Our Lady to save them from the invasion that had started on the very eve that King Drew had named his new champion.

  Gahalatine was striking Brythonica first. As soon as the ships had been sighted, messengers had rushed eastward to deliver the ill tidings. It was up to Trynne to protect her people, and she felt frightened for them, for her realm, and for herself. Her battle captains had gathered, as well as the captain of the night watch. Her herald stood by listening. There were so many ships sailing toward them, Trynne suspected the first part of the battle would happen on the beaches. She was not going to sit still. As soon as the meeting was finished, she intended to garb herself in armor and fight for her duchy as the Painted Knight.

  “My lady, our scouts have counted a massive squadron,” the navy commander said. “They are not concealing their approach. There are six treasure ships and over a hundred support vessels. They are coming en masse!”

  “And why did we have no warning?” Trynne said angrily. “I thought our fleet had encircled the area to give us advance word?”

  The commander looked stricken. “I can only surmise that our defenses were insufficient. They are coming in wit
h the night tide. They could not have chosen a more advantageous moment to attack.”

  “Of course not,” Trynne said, thinking of Gahalatine’s cocksure expression when he had launched his attack on the oasis. Was he part of this attack? Would she have to face him sword to sword?

  “This squadron is only a portion of Gahalatine’s fleet,” Trynne said next, shaking her head. “He has many more ships than this, enough to attack our entire coast. This is only the first wave. I am certain of that.” Her stomach twisted with worry. “Keep the citizens indoors. I do not think they will be harmed if they stay away from the fighting. I will not surrender Ploemeur without a contest. Send word to Pree and see how soon they can send soldiers to relieve us.”

  “Aye, my lady,” replied her herald, Farnes.

  A commotion erupted from the hall as the doorway was thrust open. “The castle! They’re in the castle!” a serving girl shrieked in panic.

  “What? How?” barked one of the captains. “Where are they?”

  “They came from the chapel,” the girl said through her sobs.

  The sound of weapons and clanging armor lit up the corridor.

  Benjamin grabbed Trynne’s arm. “My lady, you must flee!”

  She shook herself free. “I will not abandon Ploemeur so quickly. Bring me my swords.”

  He stared at her incredulously. “My lady?”

  “They’re in my chamber. Now hurry!”

  Her mother’s aging battle captain, Marshal Soeur, ordered the guard to assemble at the door and shut it. He drew his heavy greatsword while they rushed to obey, but the doors were flung back when they tried to close them.

  The noise of metal scraping against stone filtered in from the hall, the grinding shriek of it stinging their ears. Four of the soldiers at the door skidded into pillars, as if slung by giants. None of them got up. Trynne felt a building tide of Fountain magic from beyond the corridor. More soldiers ran forward to help their fallen comrades. Their boots thumped against the tile floor, and Trynne watched in shock as all of them suddenly flew sideways into the nearest wall, brushed aside by invisible arms.

  Three men strode down the corridor toward the audience hall. All three were Wizrs, and Trynne recognized the first among them. It was the Wizr Rucrius, who had almost destroyed Kingfountain by diverting its mighty river.

  A tall man with very long pale hair and dark eyebrows, he wore an elegantly braided tunic that went down to his knees. An equally extravagant sword was belted to his waist. As he walked toward her, she noticed that the staff he clutched had a nick in it from where her father had attacked him with his sword. Rucrius looked confident and smug as he passed the fallen soldiers. One of the men tried to reach out and intercede, but he lacked the strength to rise.

  As he approached, Trynne noticed that his eyes were glowing like a cat’s, reflecting the light of the palace’s lamps and torches. She shifted her gaze to the other Wizrs, whom she did not recognize. One had a black beard streaked with gray and a bald head. He had a menacing look. The third Wizr was younger, in his thirties perhaps. Clean-shaven like Rucrius, he wore very costly apparel with medallions and bracelets and a turban-like hat sewn with pearls.

  Benjamin had rushed out the side door toward her chambers and had not yet returned. Another group of soldiers, including the aging marshal, yelled in challenge and rushed at the Wizrs.

  Rucrius gave them a look of disdain as he began to whirl his staff. When it struck the first soldier, the man flipped over and struck the tile floor hard. Rucrius was a skilled warrior, and he used his weapon to clear away anyone who dared engage him. The other two Wizrs put their fingertips together and began muttering words of power.

  Trynne sensed the ley lines knotting together and realized that they had come for her—they were trying to prevent her or anyone else who was Fountain-blessed from escaping.

  The Brythonicans would not give up their daughter without a fight. More soldiers came forward to defend Trynne, who was momentarily stunned—she’d never done battle with one Wizr before, let alone three—and uncertain what to do. Rucrius extended his palm at the aging marshal, who suddenly froze, unable to swing his sword. He stood there, his muscles bulging, his eyes wide with terror as he was forced to hold his sword suspended over his head, unmoving.

  Rucrius smirked at the older man as he passed him, closing the gap to Trynne even as more soldiers continued to charge at him. She could not believe this was happening. Then she saw Benjamin rush into the room, holding her twin swords.

  “Enough of this foolishness!” Rucrius snapped impatiently. He brought his staff down on the tiles hard and the floor jolted. A huge crack split the floor from one end of the hall to the other, and the earth bucked, knocking everyone to the ground except for Trynne and the three Wizrs. She felt the magic from the earthquake, but it passed around her harmlessly.

  Benjamin had fallen with the rest, stunned by the display of magic. But even though he’d tumbled down to the floor, he shoved one of her swords toward her, sending it skidding across the tile. The sight of her weapon jarred her back to her senses. She reached down to grab it.

  “Please, Lady Tryneowy,” Rucrius said with an ungracious smile. “Have the grace to accept your defeat. You are Fountain-blessed, and my lord and master Gahalatine sent me to escort you to his capital. He desires to meet you. Your people will not be harmed if you submit to us now. Already our fleet is nearing the shore. Unless I give the proper sign to halt them, they will commence their attack, and many will needlessly perish. Brythonica has always been the weakest of the duchies of Ceredigion. Now I ask you, plainly, to set down that sword and accept your fate. Perhaps Gahalatine will choose you as his consort? Though I think he may prefer someone else.” He gave her an oily smile, staring at the left side of her face in a manner that made his meaning all too clear.

  “I will not surrender my duchy,” Trynne said, her voice trembling with passion. “And our people and my king will fight Gahalatine’s aggression.”

  Rucrius snorted. “Your king is being attacked in four places at once, young lady,” he said. “You cannot flee from me by the ley lines, and you lack a Tay al-Ard to travel without them. I commend your bravery, my lady, but do not be a simpleton. I will take you to the Forbidden Court by force if I must.” He gave her a mocking bow. “You won’t be the first who came unwillingly.”

  She saw the lord marshal straining, the sword held helplessly over his head. The others were still on the ground, staring at her, and she could see the look of devotion in Thierry’s eyes, his outrage at the foreigner’s insult.

  And then an idea struck her as clearly as a ringing bell. The Fountain whispered it to her; she knew it had.

  “I thank you for coming all this way,” Trynne answered, walking forward. “By tangling the ley lines, you have made it difficult for you to leave as well.”

  “Do you think that I fear a wisp of a girl such as you?”

  “No,” Trynne answered. “But you should.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Defending Ploemeur

  Trynne’s idea came from the staff the Wizr Rucrius held. It was clearly his strongest weapon, and she could sense the nature of the Fountain magic it possessed. It could shatter stone and split rock. She sensed its power was from the Deep Fathoms itself. Having been raised in Ploemeur, she knew the power that earthquakes held over water—and what a tidal flood could do to a host of ships caught in its path. Her own fleet was out at sea, so they would not be dashed onto the rocky shores of the coast. The Chandigarli fleet would be.

  She needed to get the staff from him.

  Facing three Wizrs at once would be madness.

  Her only hope was to distract Rucrius enough that she could wrench the staff from him. The idea came to her at once: the word of power that could restore life also had other uses . . .

  “Nesh-ama,” Trynne breathed softly, invoking the power while her strength was at its fullest. She directed the spell at the tunics of the castle soldiers, each bearing
the Raven sigil.

  There was an awful croaking noise as the ravens lifted off the fabric, first fluttering flatly and then coming to life, turning into enormous birds. The black plumage and raking claws rushed to the center of the audience hall, the birds’ beaks snapping at the turbans and hair of the three Wizrs of Chandigarl. Trynne used the sudden commotion to rush forward, spinning her blade in the circular pattern she had practiced for years, forming a whirlwind of steel.

  Rucrius’s mouth contorted into a snarl of anger. He met her, swinging the staff down at her to interrupt the movement of her blade. She felt the jolt of the staff as it struck her, felt its power bunch up to throw her back across the room, but its magic could not be used against her. Next, the Wizr reversed the blow and tried to strike her stomach with the other end of the staff. She knew the reversal move well and blocked it with her blade. Then, turning in a corkscrew move, she flipped around and kicked him in the face.

  Rucrius staggered backward, stunned that she had struck him. A splotch of red appeared on his lip and dribbled down his chin. He touched it, confused, then saw the blood on his fingertip. His dark eyebrows knitted with fury, and he came at her fast and hard, spinning the staff over his head and knocking ravens out of the way as he whirled and struck at her. Again and again. Trynne ducked, dived, and rolled, trying to keep away from the staff. She was immune to its Fountain-enhanced power, but a blow to her skull would still knock her unconscious.