The Hollow Crown (The Kingfountain Series Book 4)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Morwenna clasped her hands behind her back, her cheeks a little flushed, and walked back to stand behind her father’s chair. Severn had a scowl on his face. His eyes were fixed on the king.

  King Drew spoke next. “I’m sure you all have questions. But this is not the time or the season for being indecisive. The issue at hand, as I see it, is how to protect our borders. Gahalatine struck at the heart of our kingdom first. He sent Rucrius to demonstrate his might and power and the insignificance of our traditions. He stopped the river from flowing for a moment. He meant to break our spirit.” The king’s voice grew more steady and forceful. “But instead, he strengthened our resolve. He will not claim one city or plow one field uncontested,” he said, striking the table with his finger. He chuffed to himself. “We have been a fractious realm. We have fought against one another as squabbling brothers do. Well, that discord has taught us one thing. We know how to fight. My counselors have advised me that if we do not wield the hammer of war with all of our strength, then we will be shattered and not the stone.”

  He paused, looking across the table at the variety of faces. Trynne was impressed by his cool demeanor, but also the throb of passion in his voice. She could feel the magic of the hollow crown wafting from him like vapors of mist.

  “I have entrusted Queen Genevieve with the defense of Kingfountain. She has already chosen warriors to defend the homeland. The rest of you must gather every capable man and arm him with whatever is available—sword, spear, arrow, or pitchfork. From the reckoning we received from Grand Duke Maxwell, Gahalatine has brought over a hundred thousand trained warriors to conquer us. We do not have as many. But what we lack in training, we will make up in courage. We are fighting to protect our homeland, our wives and daughters. We will break the siege of Guilme and throw back those who would chain us into servitude. Do not provide for the defense of your own lands. If we fall in Brugia, we will all fall. Suffer no illusion that Gahalatine will make you lord of your own dominion. He will take it all. And I, for one, have no desire to sip his wine in bondage or pay him tribute from our coffers for the privilege.”

  The king looked decisive and very regal in that moment. He then turned to Owen. “My lord duke, give the orders.”

  Trynne’s eyes were fixed on her father. This was the prophecy her mother had given them so many years ago. This was the battle from which he would not return home.

  Owen looked haggard but determined. He rose from his chair. “I’ve given this some thought previously, but I won’t bore you with the permutations. Legault, Atabyrion, North Cumbria, and East Stowe will sail to the city of Aosta. That is north of Guilme, and your attack will come from the north. Southport and Occitania, you will be shuttled and join forces with the King of Pisan to attack from the south. Do not worry about supply lines. Pisan and Brythonica will help provide support. Lastly, the king’s forces will join with Westmarch and my lord of Glosstyr. We will cross to Callait and hasten to join the three segments together. We will attack as one at Guilme. Loyalty binds us together.”

  As he said those words, Owen stared across the table at his previous master.

  Trynne knew she needed to tell her father about Severn’s secret visitors before he departed. Or maybe he already knew and that was why he had determined to keep the former king close to him?

  We are always wanting. We crave another man’s hat or his shoes. Women are jealous of other women for the color of their hair. He who is not contented with what he has would not be contented with what he would like to have.

  Myrddin

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Ring of the Grove

  It was nearly impossible for Trynne to find time to speak to her father alone. Sinia had returned back to Brythonica, and Trynne would join her there after she made her orders to Captain Staeli. He was to bring the soldiers of Averanche to Tatton Hall to join her father’s host. Then they would march to Kingfountain to combine with the king’s host before crossing the river.

  She had never seen her father so worried. Reports came in almost constantly, which he reviewed with Lord Amrein. The two men had not slept in a while, and it seemed unlikely they’d have an opportunity anytime soon. Trynne knew she had to go, but she couldn’t leave without first warning her father. When she realized there was little chance he would leave the room called the Star Chamber that evening, she braced herself and knocked on the door. Lord Amrein opened it, his worried eyes softening when he saw her.

  “Good evening, my lady. Owen, it’s your daughter.”

  Her father stood over the table that was overflowing with messages. He glanced up, his brow furrowed with stress. When he saw her, there was almost an involuntary wince of pain on his face.

  “I thought you had gone already,” he said, straightening. “I was hoping you hadn’t.” He rubbed his hands along his whiskers. He hadn’t shaved in days.

  “Papa,” she said, feeling her throat suddenly seize with emotion. He was her rock, her pillar. She rushed to him, hugging him hard, and she felt tears squeeze from her own lashes. The thought of losing her father was unbearable. It can’t be the Fountain’s will! It mustn’t be! She remembered again the promise she’d made herself all those years ago. If there was anything she could do to save him, she would. The oath of obedience she’d made to follow the Fountain’s will chafed her mercilessly. Would she defy it if she could?

  She felt his lips brush against her hair. He hugged her back, leaving the table of his troubles behind, and held her close.

  “I won’t leave for Guilme without saying good-bye,” he said softly. “Your mother will bring me to Ploemeur before we go to Tatton Hall to join the soldiers.”

  “I know,” she said, feeling her chest tremble with suppressed sobs. “Forgive me. It’s just that I needed to tell you something. I didn’t want to forget.”

  He pulled away and then sat at the edge of the sturdy wooden table, bringing himself down to her height. There was so much he needed to do . . . She hated that she was robbing sleep from him, but he didn’t seem concerned about it. “What?”

  Trynne licked her lips. She was going to the battlefield. Neither of her parents knew it. The Fountain had asked her to keep it secret.

  “I learned something from Fallon,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.” She glanced at Lord Amrein, uncertain of how to proceed. Had the Espion master told her father yet? Would it put him in a bad light if she was the one who revealed it? She didn’t want to say anything to offend Lord Amrein, but the news was too important for her to withhold it.

  “Tell me,” her father said simply, clasping his hands against his front.

  “There have been men visiting Glosstyr. Riders wearing black with silver masks. Fallon thinks it’s a conspiracy. You are going to be riding with Severn. I wanted to be absolutely sure that you knew this.”

  Her father betrayed no look of surprise. He glanced at Kevan and then arched his eyebrows.

  Lord Amrein chuckled. “Lord Fallon is better informed than I suspected,” he said in a lighthearted way. “If he wants this job, he’s welcome to it.”

  Owen smiled. “Anyone who wants it deserves the curse. It is a position of great trust. I like Fallon very much, but I also worry about him. He wants too much to prove himself. And he’s a little rash. Like his father.”

  “So you already knew?” Trynne said, judging the answer by the look on her father’s face.

  He nodded.

  “Then who are these men in silver masks?” she asked.

  He glanced at Lord Amrein again and gestured for him to speak.

  “We don’t know,” he answered simply, folding his arms. “They started coming rather recently. No pattern in their arrival or departure. As you know, we’ve always had trouble maintaining Espion in Glosstyr. We’ve asked Lady Kathryn, and she was completely ignorant. We’ve asked Morwenna, and she claims to be equally baffled. We’ve kept her rather busy these last months, so she’s rarely in Glosstyr for long. I concur with Fallon’s reasoning—it
does feel like a rebellion is brewing.”

  “And what are we doing about it?” Trynne demanded. She felt a bit presumptuous, but it would be unthinkable to walk away without asking.

  “Lord Severn is riding with me,” Owen said. “I plan to ask him.”

  Trynne’s eyes widened with surprise.

  Owen shrugged. “It could be many things. It could be nothing. I’d rather have him away from his duchy, surrounded by the king’s army and mine. Has he made a secret alliance with Chandigarl? We don’t know. Does he intend to betray me as my father betrayed him at Ambion Hill? I hope not. If he doesn’t give a satisfactory answer to my questions, then he’ll be arrested prior to the battle.” He sighed. “I wish we still had that Wizr board,” he continued. “I especially miss how you could tell when someone changed sides because the pieces changed color.”

  “Another reason Rucrius visited us, no doubt,” Lord Amrein said.

  Owen nodded and then shrugged. “Does that ease your concerns, Trynne?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I should have trusted Lord Amrein more. I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “Your father likes to worry,” Lord Amrein teased. “We may be outnumbered by a sizable force. But we were outnumbered in Azinkeep as well. That turned out to be a rather crucial battle, did it not, between Occitania and Ceredigion? These foreigners haven’t tested our mettle yet.”

  “True,” Owen said wryly. “That doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

  “I worried needlessly. I’m sorry for interrupting you both,” Trynne said, coming forward and kissing her father’s prickly cheek. He caught her hand.

  “There is something I would tell you.”

  She paused, giving him her attention.

  “When the battle is over, whatever happens, your mother will start training Morwenna as a Wizr.” He looked in her eyes. “She’s displayed an aptitude and interest for it, and we can use more Wizrs, especially if we need to retreat and fight a holding action against Gahalatine as he crosses to Kingfountain. This castle would be very difficult to siege. But with Wizrs who can control water . . . well, that changes things.”

  Trynne felt the stab of regret in her heart, but she wasn’t disappointed. Being the Lady of Averanche was more to her liking. And she was determined to train other young women to defend the castle in different ways.

  “I think she’s a good choice,” Trynne said resolutely.

  Owen looked relieved. “There is something, however, that we are not going to teach her,” he continued, his voice very low. She felt his Fountain magic start to rise up and bubble. He cocked his head, as if he were listening. Then the magic subsided.

  “No one is eavesdropping,” he said with a wink. “I wanted to be sure. Your mother and I have kept this secret. Lord Amrein knows, because he’s proven himself over many years.”

  Her father held out his left hand, palm up. He took her hand and placed it on top of his. “You see the wedding ring. You can feel it, can’t you? But there is another ring on my finger. One that you cannot see.”

  She touched his hand and examined his ring finger. She felt the metal edge, wrapped in magic that was so subtle it gave off no trace. It had to be a powerful relic to be able to disguise itself thus.

  “What is this ring?” she asked.

  “Remember the story I told you about the grove in the woods near Ploemeur? How your mother and I told you to keep it secret and never go there without us?”

  “Yes. I’ve only been there a few times. There is strong magic there.”

  Owen nodded. “That is where a past duchess of Brythonica entrapped Myrddin. King Drew, your mother, and I freed him. You’ve seen the silver bowl fastened to the chain.”

  “Yes, and the little waterfall by the ancient oak tree.” She smiled eagerly.

  “We showed you what happens. It is one of Brythonica’s greatest defenses. Whenever you pour water from that bowl, it summons a huge storm. Your mother used it during the battle of Averanche to help me defeat Chatriyon’s army. The father, not the son,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “I am the champion of the grove because of this ring. Marshal Roux was the previous champion. I took the ring from him.” His voice dropped lower still. “Trynne, if I fall in this battle, I’ve instructed Lord Amrein to bring the ring to your mother or to you. You must pick someone to become the new champion of Brythonica. I’ve had my eye on Captain Staeli for many years. I think he’s the one. I just wanted to tell you in case anything happens.”

  She felt humbled by his trust and the secret he was confiding in her.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “Trynne, it was this ring that helped me save Genevieve when she fell into the river all those years ago. Dragan knows about it.”

  Trynne’s eyes widened with shock. “How?”

  Owen shook his head. “I don’t know. It was many years ago. Kevan, remember when Severn had me arrested for treason?”

  A sickened look came onto the Espion master’s face. “How could I forget?”

  “That was a bad day,” Owen said, chuckling. “I was locked in the tower and Dragan followed the guards, invisible like the cockroach that he is. He wanted revenge on me for his daughter’s death. Revenge that he’s already taken out on you, but I don’t think he’s satisfied with the injury he caused you. He also said he would be paid an enormous sum to bring my left hand to Chatriyon. I knew he was after the ring, even if he didn’t. That means Chatriyon knew of it somehow.” Owen turned and looked at Kevan. “If I fall in the battle, someone may try and take it.”

  “Shouldn’t you leave it here before you go?” Kevan said worriedly.

  Owen shook his head. “I cannot. It is my responsibility until I die. I cannot just give it to someone else. Roux gave it to me only as he was spitting up blood. I don’t think I could even take it off unless I was passing the responsibility on to someone else. Dragan is still after this ring, Trynne. He hasn’t forgotten nor forgiven. I wanted both of you to know that.” He paused. “I think one of the reasons we can’t find Dragan is because he’s hiding out in Glosstyr. He’ll probably be disguised as one of the soldiers who comes with us. I plan to set a trap for him. That is one worry I’d like taken care of permanently. I owe Etayne that much,” he added, a hint of grief lingering in his voice.

  The rush of magic rippled through Trynne’s body. When the mist faded, she and Captain Staeli were standing in the shallow pool of a dormant fountain. Moonlight streamed in from the high arched windows of the sanctuary. The room was empty and still, except for the tiny sounds of lapping water. Trynne listened for noises. Down one of the corridors, she saw the glow of a lantern as someone, probably the sexton, patrolled the grounds.

  “And where are we now?” Staeli asked gruffly, screwing up his nose and glancing around. “Occitania?”

  “Pree, the sanctuary of St. Denys,” Trynne whispered, releasing his hand. “This is where the Maid left her armor.”

  “We’re here to find armor?” he asked in confusion, looking around at the empty room. The wall sconces had extinguished torches. Staeli was still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “Yes, the Maid left it here for me. I need you to help me carry it and teach me how to put it on. You’re leaving at first light for Tatton Hall. I’ll be joining the army along the way. Have a tent ready for me, but it needs to be apart from the rest.”

  “If you say so,” Staeli said with a yawn. “Where is this armor? I don’t see any.”

  Trynne heard the sound of approaching footsteps and saw the bob of the lantern light on the wall moving toward them.

  “It’s here in the water with us,” she said. “Quiet, they’ll hear!”

  She reached out and summoned the armor with her magic. As with all treasures hidden in the Deep Fathoms, only a Fountain-blessed could draw it out. The armor materialized once again within the ripples, and Trynne reached into the water and hefted the breastplate. As she drew it from the water, the weight of it surprised her, and she nearly stumbled forward. Captain Staeli caugh
t her and then grabbed the top of it with his hand and hoisted it over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  “Is someone there? Who is there?” called a voice in Occitanian. The light from the lantern was going to reach them in moments.

  Trynne quickly assembled the other pieces, handing some to the captain and gathering others to herself. The sounds of the footsteps were nearly upon them when she grabbed Staeli’s hand again and summoned the Fountain magic to conceal them and whisk them back to Averanche.

  Back inside her private chamber, racing to beat the brightening sky, Tryneowy Kiskaddon stood before a tall mirror, adjusting the arm bracer and flexing at her elbow. The armor was sturdy, but it was surprisingly light once she had it on, and it fit her perfectly. Was it a coincidence that the Maid of Donremy was her own height and build?

  The armor was dented and scuffed, even though it was polished. It had seen battles.

  “Now for the breastplate,” Staeli said, standing behind her. “The rivets tighten here and here. You won’t be able to arm yourself in this, you realize? It takes two to put on a full suit.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Trynne said, unconcerned. She was usually loath to look at herself in the mirror, but seeing herself in a suit of armor made her feel giddy with excitement. Two overlapping pieces of metal met at the apex of the breastplate and were sculpted and shaped into a decorative design.

  She twisted her torso as Staeli encased her in the breastplate like a crab shell.

  “I don’t like this part,” he said, pointing to the small gap between the breastplate and the shoulder guard. “A broadhead arrow could pierce right here.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head in wonderment.

  At his words, Trynne felt a momentary dizziness as the wellspring surged up inside her, filling her with the screams and groans of a long-ago battle. For a moment, she was the Maid of Donremy, feeling the pain of the arrow piercing her as she was carried off the field. The smell of blood overwhelmed her, as did the noise and confusion. The terror of the field was real.