The Hollow Crown (The Kingfountain Series Book 4)

by Jeff Wheeler

  A whisper of leaves was the only warning before someone thrust a pole at her chest. Trynne parried it with her staff, but she realized that the longer she kept still, the more guards would strike at her. She breathed hard, feeling the fatigue Myrddin had warned her about. Her magic was dwindling, and if she used it all up, she’d be comatose. She wouldn’t pass the Gauntlet.

  Then another idea struck her. The trellises for the star jasmine vines were made of wood. She ran the length of maze on her right, and when she got to the end, she swung up the staff across the trellises on either side of the maze and pulled herself up. From this position, she could see a burning pit fire along the far wall of the maze, marking the exit.

  A staff lunged from the foliage and struck her ribs. She’d been too slow to dodge it. Grunting with pain, she dropped down, fetched her staff, and hurried off in the direction she had seen the fire. The maze turned her around a few times, but she kept moving, listening to the sound of rustling and whispers from beyond the wall. In the daylight, the hedge maze would have been much easier to navigate. The darkness and shadows made it difficult to find offshoot corridors. But Trynne was persistent and pulled herself up several times to spy her way. She was getting closer to the end when she heard the noise of people entering the maze behind her. It sounded like the five others were coming in at the same time.

  As she drew nearer to the glow of the pit fire, she saw more details amidst the green leaves of the vines of the maze.

  Then she heard a series of thumps, followed by grunts of pain. With a twinge, she recognized Fallon’s voice.

  “You craven gunnnghh!” It sounded as if his words had been broken off by a blow.

  “I thought it was you,” Prince Elwis muttered darkly. “What magic is it that disguises your face, Llewellyn? Hold him fast!”

  The voices were coming from Trynne’s right, but when she hurried to reach them, she found herself at a dead end. She’d gone the wrong way. She was about to turn around and walk away when she heard the voices coming from behind her.

  “A ring, is it? Where did you get this?”

  Trynne felt the stream of Fountain magic, which she’d sensed throughout the competition, suddenly vanish.

  “Pizzle in the Deep Fathoms,” Fallon cursed at him. There was the noise of fist punching stomach and another groan.

  “I’ll take it as a keepsake. You thought you could trick us, Llewellyn? Well, you won’t be getting past the hedge maze. At least not tonight.”

  “When I get out of this,” Fallon wheezed in warning.

  “You’ll do what? Weep to your mum?” His voice took on a childish taunt. “Life is so unfair. ‘I have a scrape, Mum. Will you kiss it?’ You pampered nobles disgust me.”

  Trynne wondered if she should climb up the trellis and jump down to the other side, but then she realized that perhaps it was the right way to go. The jasmine vines were thick enough that they could overhang a gap and only look like a wall. She pushed her way through the vines and was suddenly at the end of the maze.

  There was Prince Elwis with four of his guards. Three of them were in the process of chaining Fallon to the trellis to stop him from competing.

  “Ah, the painted knight. The Atabyrion,” Elwis said dispassionately. “The short one.” His expression turned sour. “I don’t like the thought of one of your countrymen winning my kingdom’s Gauntlet either, Llewellyn.” He gave Trynne a cold look. “You’ll stay here too, Woady. Take him,” he barked.

  Trynne was ready for the attack from behind. She’d seen Elwis’s eyes dart behind her, and her magic had warned her there were men sneaking up. Trynne did not have time for a sustained fight, so she twisted into a low stance and swung her staff up and over her head backward, cracking it against the skull of one of her attackers. As she untwisted her legs, she brought it around again and dropped the second man.

  Elwis’s eyes widened with surprise.

  Trynne went after him, but two of the guards closed ranks in front of him, blocking her. She dispatched both of them in seconds. The magic of the wellspring filled her with knowledge, but her magic and strength were both gushing out of her. She heard a sword clear its scabbard and saw Elwis was armed, his eyes dark with menace.

  “You think that you can best me, boy?” Elwis sneered.

  Trynne adjusted her grip on the staff. Pole against sword. Little though he might know it, Elwis was already at a disadvantage. She had the longer reach. She maintained a defensive posture and waited for him to attack her, slowing the ebb of her magic.

  “I warn you,” Elwis taunted. “I’ve never been defeated. If you face me, you won’t be walking out of this maze. You won’t be walking anywhere.”

  But in a few quick moves, Fallon bested one of the guards trying to subdue him, wrapping an arm around the man’s neck and struggling to choke him.

  Trynne did not answer. She didn’t want her voice to shake. She wasn’t afraid of Prince Elwis and she hesitantly reached out with her magic, looking for a weakness to exploit. The truth of the matter was that he was just as capable as he claimed to be. He had trained and practiced for years, had pushed himself to succeed in every imaginable way. He was a disciplined warrior, not opposed to using tricks and deceit to win. He’d even been trained at the poisoner school. She could sense his skill brooding beneath the surface.

  She bowed to him, saluting with the staff, and then waited for him to make his move.

  Elwis charged at her, using his sword to jab and thrust at her. He was trying to injure her. She defended herself, her only goal to stay conscious and knock him senseless. She could see no recognition in his eyes. Her soldier’s garb and woad stains had completely fooled him. Magic leached from her faster and faster.

  The sword came down and Trynne caught it, then jammed the end of her spear into the prince’s stomach so hard he bowed over, clutching his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but he fought on. When she whipped the staff around to crush his cheek, he ducked and rolled forward, a dangerous move, and tried to stab her. Trynne pivoted and the blade rushed past her harmlessly. She trapped his wrist against her side, then jammed her knuckles holding the staff against his throat and flipped him over and onto his back. He struck the stones so hard that he blacked out.

  Trynne stared at the body, gasping hard and feeling her knees tremble. Captain Staeli could not have done any better.

  The other guard slumped to the ground, also unconscious. Fallon, free of his disguise, was staring at her keenly. Did he recognize her? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t get enough air and felt the black edges closing in around her eyes.

  Trynne knelt down by Elwis, keeping her painted profile facing Fallon. She felt his neck to make sure he was breathing. His pulse was ragged, but he would survive and awaken with great pain. At his collar, she saw the champion necklace and the little gold badges affixed to the chain. He had four of them. It was one of the rules of Virtus that a knight who was challenged had to fight a duel, and if they lost, they lost their tokens. Trynne hadn’t challenged Elwis in words, but he had challenged her by attacking first. By rights, the necklace he wore so proudly was hers. She snapped it off his neck and cupped it in her hand.

  Fallon chuckled. “You’ve made a mortal enemy,” he said with a grunt. “Believe me, I know. What’s your name?”

  She kept her voice low. “Fidelis, my lord. They call me Ellis.” She had chosen the name earlier as a nod to the Atabyrion word fidelis. Faithful.

  Fallon wrinkled his brow. “You’ve done me good service today, Ellis. Do I know your family? You look familiar.”

  Trynne dug her hand into Elwis’s pocket and found the ring that he had taken from Fallon. She could sense the Fountain magic inside it, radiating like smoking coals.

  Before she could pass it to Fallon, he smiled and shook his head. “Let him keep it,” he whispered conspiratorially. “It’s cursed, actually. I meant for him to have it all along.”

  At those words, Trynne realized that Fallon was more clever than she had real
ized. How had he come into possession of a cursed ring? A certain dark-haired poisoner came to mind. Trynne started to smile and then caught herself in the act. Fallon’s gaze began to narrow, his eyes crinkling at the edges. She stuffed the ring back into the prince’s pocket.

  She straightened and then jangled Elwis’s chain. “I’ll take this, then. I’ve won enough today, my lord. This Gauntlet is yours.” She gestured for him to precede her, hoping she wouldn’t faint.

  He pursed his lips, then shook his head. “No, you’re the one who earned the champion rank. I’ll not claim it unfairly. Take the honor, Ellis.”

  Trynne shook her head, feeling her body start to wobble. “No, I’m spent, my lord. You claim it. If I don’t flee now before he rouses, I’ll not live through the night. I need to get far away.” She jiggled the necklace in her palm. A Brugian badge already hung from it, so she didn’t need to earn it twice. “This is enough.”

  “It means we’ll both have four badges. I’ll see you next in Occitania. And I’ll win that one without your help.” He gave her a nod of respect.

  She waited for him to go ahead through the archway leading out. Then she sucked in her breath and prayed she had enough Fountain magic to make it to the sanctuary where Captain Staeli was awaiting her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Wizr of Chandigarl

  Trynne’s magic was so depleted that she had collapsed after stepping outside the well of the fountain. She slumped onto the cool tiles, listening to the patter of the waters behind her as she sunk into the darkness, her body unable to rouse itself.

  She awoke sometime after midnight in an unfamiliar cell. There was a little oil lamp giving off a small glow of light. She lay on a reed-sewn pallet with a small blanket covering her. Captain Staeli sat with his back to the wall, his head drooping, but he was not asleep. There was a small bowl and a crumpled, blue-stained rag nearby. Her mother would be worried about her, but she still had no strength and there was not even a prickle of awareness from the magic. She was defenseless.

  “Rest, lass,” Staeli whispered. “I’m keeping watch.”

  She gazed at him, grateful for his loyalty. The Gauntlet had tested her and it was harder than she had thought. Not because of the challenges themselves but because of the dishonorable conduct of the Brugians. Weariness overwhelmed her and she drifted off to sleep again.

  In the morning, she changed from the men’s clothes back into the Brugian dress. Staeli assured her that the blue smudges on her face were gone. She looked and felt like a different person. She stuffed the necklace she’d taken from Elwis into the bottom of her pack and gingerly reached out to try to sense the magic. There was still nothing left. Part of her wanted to panic, but she knew what she needed to do.

  Together, Trynne and Captain Staeli walked the grounds of the sanctuary and came to the spot where men often gathered to play Wizr. Several old men were already playing matches, but there was an unused set at an empty table. She and Staeli sat across from each other and started a game. As soon as her fingers started moving the pieces, she felt the whisper of the Fountain flowing into her. With it came tingles of gratitude.

  The sound of boots came into the area, and she spied two men wearing the badge of Brugia. One of them had a bruise on his cheek. She recalled him from the previous night at the Gauntlet, so she kept her gaze fixed on the table.

  “The sexton said there was a man and a lad who spent the night in a cell,” the bruised man muttered to his companion. “The prince will have our heads if we don’t find him.”

  “I’ve never seen him so angry,” said the companion.

  “Nor I,” agreed the other. “The lad took his chain.”

  “I know, I know. Did you see the fight?”

  “No, I got struck down in the main hall and was being tended by a pretty healer.”

  “I would have loved to see Elwis knocked down. He’s too proud by half.”

  “Hush, man. Too many ears.” The guards walked past, but one stopped and stared at them playing the game. Trynne felt a twinge of dread.

  “Excuse me, kind sir,” said the bruised man.

  Staeli frowned and looked up at him, folding his arms.

  “But have you or your daughter seen a young man in the sanctuary this morning?”

  Staeli frowned deeper and jogged his shoulders.

  Trynne was afraid his accent would give him away. “What did he look like?” she offered in a sweet voice.

  “Hard to say. It’s an Atabyrion, though. Half his face was painted blue.”

  Trynne gave him an innocent look. “If we do see someone like that, should we tell the deconeus or the sexton?”

  “Aye, lass. Please do. Sorry to intrude on your game.”

  “It’s no problem. Can you tell me who won the Gauntlet last night? I was not feeling well and was abed early.”

  The man frowned. “Prince Fallon Llewellyn took the prize. Followed by a Fountain-blessed lad from Legault. But the Atabyrion prince insists that he didn’t win the Gauntlet. He credited the blue-faced lad for being the victor and said he would hold the bag of gold for him in Edonburick. The whole city is trying to find the lad. They’re calling him the painted knight.”

  “Thank you,” Trynne said, feeling a flush of approval for Fallon. She looked back at the game, trying to suppress her enjoyment of the situation.

  “It’s your move, Father,” she said to Staeli, giving him a knowing look.

  “Threat,” he said, blocking her early move with one of his own.

  By the end of the game, she had summoned enough power to bring them home.

  Trynne withdrew the book she had purchased in Marq from her bag and handed it to her mother, whom she found in the library. “I’m so sorry we were late,” she apologized yet again. “I was so drained that I needed to rest before coming back.”

  Sinia did not look concerned at all, which was a relief. “I was waiting up for you, but then saw a vision of you returning this morning.” She patted Trynne’s cheek. “I think you will need to practice traveling the ley lines more, Trynne. It’s the only way you’ll get stronger at it.”

  She didn’t reveal that the trip had taxed her very little. It was fighting the street gang and competing in the Gauntlet that had done that.

  Her mother examined the book, opening the pages with a sense of reverence. Trynne could see how much her mother loved to read old books. She wished she could share that obsession, but she would rather have been in the training yard or visiting the Gauntlet that had been constructed at Ploemeur. She’d not been allowed to visit it, as only the participants and those helping were given permission to see it. Her plan was to save her own duchy’s test for last, prior to entering the Gauntlet in Kingfountain.

  “How was the Gauntlet?” Sinia asked her, making Trynne blink with surprise. “Who won?”

  “Fallon,” she answered truthfully, clasping her hands behind her back.

  “Did you see him while you were there?”

  Trynne bit her lip. “Actually, yes. He was staying at the Espion safe house. Prince Elwis doesn’t care for him.”

  Sinia nodded knowingly. “It was both courageous and foolish of him to compete in Brugia. But I’m glad he did well.”

  “He’s been spending time with Morwenna,” Trynne said, trying to keep any hint of jealousy from her voice.

  Sinia nodded. The news didn’t seem to surprise her. Her mother smoothed her hand over the book cover and walked to the table.

  “Morwenna told me that she has learned some of the words of power,” Trynne said, trying to draw her mother out more.

  Sinia glanced back at her, her brow wrinkling.

  “I think she’d make a better Wizr than I would,” Trynne said seriously. “Have you considered training her? Could she be trusted that much?”

  Sinia looked at her, and she could feel her mother’s compassion as well as her disappointment. Trynne knew her own lack of interest must be difficult for her mother, who cared so much about the magic
and the tales of old.

  “Your father and I have discussed Morwenna’s . . . aptitude before. And the risks.”

  Trynne experienced that wriggling self-doubt again. “And?”

  “She serves her brother best as his poisoner,” was her simple reply.

  “But you do see the talent she has,” Trynne pressed. “More than mine. I’m not jealous of her, Mother. If you want to train her, shouldn’t you?”

  Sinia’s lips tightened. “You have such potential with the magic,” she said. “You’re depleted right now, but I can sense the vastness of your reservoir. You remind me of your father at this age. Your powers will grow.”

  Trynne felt frustrated by the promise she’d made not to tell her secrets. How she longed to tell her mother that she was an Oath Maiden, following the Fountain’s directives. She was not supposed to be a Wizr. And perhaps Morwenna was not supposed to be a poisoner either.

  She licked her lips, trying to find her courage to speak up for herself. But she didn’t know what to say.

  “What is it?” Sinia asked. She set the book down and approached Trynne, taking her hands and squeezing them. “You look conflicted. Is it because of what you heard about Fallon and Morwenna?”

  A stab of anguish went through her. “What do you mean?”

  Her mother squeezed her hands again and then stroked her shoulder. “As a parent, it’s difficult to know what to say or when to say it. Our family is already coping with so much. We didn’t want to concern you with court gossip.”

  “Fallon likes her,” Trynne said, feeling her heart was going to break. “But she doesn’t like him. She told me so herself.”

  Sinia gave her a pained smile. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

  Trynne squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry. “Is this how you felt?” she whispered, gazing at her mother, seeing the shared pain in her eyes. “You fell in love with Father from your visions of the future. But he didn’t know who you were. Or that you were meant to be together. At least you knew, though.” A sickening feeling came into her stomach. She wondered that she hadn’t thought of it before. “Do you know . . . do you know who I’m going to marry?”