TWENTY-FIVE
They had been standing at the edge of the forest for more than an hour, watching for movement. Thorne had been expecting to see the Hellion soldiers that Gavin and Eckhardt had described, coming or going from Banraven. So far, there had not been a single sign of them. No sign of anything else either, which worried him more with each passing moment.
“Banraven looks deserted,” Gavin said. “Could be the dark mage and his legion have moved on.”
“And left nothing alive,” Eckhardt added.
“Could be.” Thorne was not so sure. “Or could be a trap’s been laid in case any of us were to come looking.”
“But I’m not one of you,” Rhys said. “Someone has to go. Why not me?”
“Won’t Machreth know you?” Thorne asked. It was a good plan, at least in theory, but there were still risks. “It might be smarter to send Eckhardt or Gavin in your clothes. It’s the Ruagaire cloak and the ring that give us away.”
Rhys snorted and mounted his horse. “Is that what you think?”
Thorne looked askance at the brothers Steptoe. “Are we so obvious?”
“Yes,” Rhys said. “I’ll signal all’s-well from the gate, unless I am unable. In which case,” he grinned, “I will expect to be rescued.”
Thorne returned the grin, meaning to be encouraging, but he had concerns. “If you pass through without signaling, we’ll assume all is not well.”
Rhys tipped his chin in salute and rode off across the small field that separated the White Woods from the grounds of Banraven. By the time he had reached the bridge over the moat, Thorne was uneasy. He mounted, expecting Gavin and Eckhardt to follow.
“Better to prepare for the worst than to hope for the best,” he said, watching Rhys approach the gate.
“The gate is open,” Eckhardt said, swinging astride. “Is that Algernon, Thorne? Your eyes are better than mine.”
“It could be,” he guessed. The man greeting Rhys was the same size and stature as the elder and had the same shuffling step. “Even if it is, there’s no telling what’s going on inside.”
“At least there is someone still alive,” said Gavin.
Thorne was glad of that, but he would be gladder to see Rhys give the signal. “What is he doing?”
Rhys had dismounted and had begun to lead his horse through the gate. Thorne cursed aloud and yanked hard on the rein to pull his horse out of the furze hedge he was munching. Gavin and Eckhardt responded instinctively to Thorne’s movements, and just as all three men began their charge toward Banraven, Rhys turned to wave. Thorne cursed again and eased back on the reigns.
Gavin laughed. “Had you worried, did he?”
“Yes,” he muttered. There was no point in denying it. “That boy is too brash for his own good.”
“And you would know,” Gavin pointed out. “Two of a kind, you and him, and don’t pretend you don’t see it.”
“I see it,” Thorne muttered again. “That’s what worries me.”
“He was made for this life, Thorne,” Gavin said. “And don’t pretend you don’t see that either.”
Thorne reminded himself to offer gratitude for his friends. He felt it, always, but neglected to show it as he should. Martin’s death would haunt him all the more because he had not treated their last parting as though there would never be another one. A mistake he would not repeat.
Elder Algernon awaited them all in the courtyard. Two bedraggled boys took the horses to stable, and a third, carrying a bucket and ladle, stepped forward to offer the riders water.
Eckhardt grinned at the boy and took the ladle. “So you’ve survived after all.”
Thorne supposed this was Algernon’s messenger, the boy called Gelf. Eckhardt seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Clearly this Gelf had made a lasting impression on the hunter, and Thorne took note. Perhaps Eckhardt had found his own apprentice. At least Thorne hoped so; the survival of the Brotherhood weighed heavily on all three of them.
Rhys was circling the small ingress, as if to get his bearings.
“Banraven is a circular keep,” Thorne offered, thinking Rhys might not be familiar with the design. “Through that door is a corridor lined with living quarters and service rooms that goes all the way around, beginning and ending in the same place. There is an interior courtyard, a sort of garden, in the center of it all.
“Curious,” Rhys said. “Is it always so quiet?”
Thorne and the Brothers Steptoe turned to Algernon, who had yet to say anything. The old man was more haggard than Thorne had ever seen him. But there was no mage sign, and the keep did feel deserted.
“Is it safe to speak here, Algernon?” Thorne was weighing the wisdom of trusting anyone found in Banraven, even Algernon. “The last time I was here, you nearly led me to my doom.”
Algernon bristled. “It was me who got you out of trouble in the end.”
Thorne held his tongue, thinking instead that Algernon could have easily warned him away from the keep instead of inviting him in that night. One day he would have the whole story, but for now, he would wait.
“Where is Eldrith?” Gavin demanded, his distaste for the master unfiltered by his tone.
“I suppose I should show you the rectory,” Algernon said, pointing through the main entrance. He led the way across the foyer and through the central garden, to the doors on the far side of the circle nearest the rectory. He moved much more quickly than Thorne recalled from their last meeting.
Algernon stopped just outside the rectory and cleared his throat. “Eldrith is dead. You’ll find his body in there. Haven’t had the time or the inclination to clean up after him yet. Take a look so you can see for yourselves what that dark mage is capable of, and then you’d best be on your way. Eldrith didn’t have Trevanion’s strength, not that any of us thought he did, but what matters to you is that Machreth is already on his way to Elder Keep. Left just more than an hour ago with that bestiary he calls his personal retinue.”
Algernon stepped aside and scowled at them all. “Well, go on. Have your look.”
One by one, each of the Ruagaire took a turn at the door and offered a blessing for Eldrith’s soul. Rhys did not look, though Thorne knew the young man had seen Machreth’s handiwork before. It was unpleasant, Eldrith’s broken corpse, and Thorne could not begin to imagine what Martin must have suffered. Best that Rhys not look, especially not now. There were more pressing worries.
“What does Machreth want with Elder Keep?” Thorne turned back the way they’d come, eager to leave.
Algernon scampered to keep up with him. “It was difficult to hear everything through the false wall.”
“But you heard enough,” said Thorne. He’d almost forgotten how skilled Algernon was at eavesdropping, but this was the first he’d ever heard of a false wall in the rectory. He imagined Eldrith had never known.
“Well,” Algernon huffed, trying to catch his breath, “it seems he intends to make Elder Keep the seat of his enterprise and use its resources to bolster his strength. He made some lofty comment about ruling the world of men if he couldn’t rule the world of mages, or some such foolery.”
Thorne slowed his pace so as not to tax Algernon so much he couldn’t walk and talk. “Do you think he knows what Elder Keep hides?”
“I suspect that he suspects,” Algernon admitted, dragging his feet to a stop once they reached the outer courtyard. “No way to tell what all he knows, but Drydwen will need your help.”
“Algernon,” Thorne asked carefully, “where are the others?”
Algernon sighed. “Of the six elders who were alive when Machreth came here, there are three left, including myself. They are hiding in the sanctum—in prayer, they say. In fear, I say, but I intend to join them as soon as you leave. Aside from the three of us, there are a handful of servants still scrounging about. The three of you are all that remain of th
e hunters.”
Gavin made an unintelligible noise that Thorne took for a cross between anger and anguish. He felt the same. He also had qualms about the details, including how it was that some survived and some did not. Algernon had not told everything he knew, but for now Thorne was far more concerned about Drydwen.
Eckhardt and Rhys retrieved the horses while one of the stable boys threw open the gate. All four mounts had fresh provisions tied to their saddles, and Thorne threw Algernon a nod of thanks as he hauled himself up.
Gavin was already astride, thinking just what Thorne was thinking. “If he has only an hour or so lead, we can still get there ahead of him.”
“If we ride hard,” Thorne said, spurring his horse to a gallop before his backside had fully settled into the saddle.
They had made better time than Hywel had expected, even with the hour lost at the crossroads where they’d encountered the Cad Nawdd captain, Aslak, and Alwen’s barbarian mate, Bledig, who traveled with one of his tribesmen. Their travels had been unsuccessful; every inquiry in Ausoria had failed to turn up any sign of Tanwen, the guardian of the Physical Realm. She had never arrived in the small village that was to have been her refuge. The need to deliver this dire news, coupled with Thorvald’s death, had made Aslak anxious to be on his way, but Odwain had insisted that the Wolf King and his companion join the raiding party.
The request irked Hywel, at first. Had he not owed Odwain a debt of respect, he would have dismissed the request without half a thought. In the end he had agreed, in no small part due to Odwain’s accounts of Bledig’s daring exploits against the Hellion in the battle for the Fane. Alwen’s barbarian was sure to be an asset at Cwm Brith, and possibly another valuable ally in the campaigns ahead. To learn something of this renowned warrior on his own, Hywel invited Bledig to ride beside him for the rest of the day.
“By now Aslak will have caught up to Goram and his charge,” Hywel said, attempting to coax a conversation. Bledig was a contemplative sort, not unlike Odwain, though the Wolf King was decidedly less brooding. “I’m surprised you were not as eager to return to Fane Gramarye to deliver your news to Alwen personally.”
A sly smile tugged at the corners of Bledig’s mouth. “Oh, I’m more than eager, but Odwain seems to think I’ll be of use on this raid of yours, and I’d much rather go back with something to brag about.”
“I haven’t much stomach for failure either. It leaves a sour taste.” Hywel understood that Bledig counted his return without the sorceress as a defeat. “Your friend, is he as good a swordsman as you?”
“Domagoj?” Bledig grinned and glanced over his shoulder at his companion, who rode with Odwain, a few horse lengths behind them. “Some might say better, but not to my face.”
Some might have dismissed such talk as bluster, but Hywel interpreted it as candor. “He was with you, then, in the battle against the Hellion and their beasts?”
“Saved my life,” Bledig said. “More than once.”
Hywel was impressed, even a little relieved. “Then we are lucky to have you both with us.”
“It takes two men, at least, to bring one of the mounts down,” Bledig offered, as though he were testing Hywel’s knowledge and experience.
“The Hellion demons are easier to kill, big and slow as they are,” Hywel smiled, “though I admit it helps to have a sorceress on your side.”
Bledig laughed. “It always helps to have a sorceress on your side.”
They passed the rest of the afternoon in comfortable silence, though Hywel grew more and more expectant the closer they came to Cwm Brith. They reached the small woods that abutted the estate long enough before dark for Hywel to send out a scout team to assess their approach and any unexpected resistance.
It seemed that the battle with the Cad Nawdd guard had cost the enemy just as much, as only a handful of Hellion soldiers and their evil beasts stood between them and the main house. With Bledig’s experience and Cerrigwen’s magic, they stood a fair chance. Hywel was feeling almost as much confidence as he did dread. It would still be an ugly battle.
Hywel watched as Cerrigwen walked toward him. It had taken her nearly an hour to approach him. He’d been told that she suffered from some sort of madness, which he expected would make her restless and unpredictable, but Hywel had noticed her hemming and hawing ever since they’d arrived in the small forest. He was wary, yet also curious, and determined to be kind. This sorceress had not only known his father, she had borne him a child.
“I have been watching you, Hywel,” Cerrigwen said. “Clydog will never be half the man you are.”
“You would know better than I,” Hywel admitted. Her comment felt like flattery, but it seemed sincere. “It is years since I’ve spent any time in his company.”
Cerrigwen drew close enough to speak privately. “Your father made him what he is.”
“My father made me what I am,” he countered, “but Clydog and I are nothing alike.”
Cerrigwen cast a doubting look at him. “You are more alike than you think, but not in the ways by which a man is measured. You are bold, resourceful, and wise because your father ensured that you would be. Cadell doted on you. Clydog is desperate, uncertain, and reckless because Cadell ignored him. Remember that.”
Hywel knew there was truth to what she said. Cadell had been a harsh man, and Hywel couldn’t help but wonder how his father had made Cerrigwen who she was. “Why do you tell me this?”
“Great men become great in moments of unconquerable crisis, in the face of impossible decisions,” she explained. “It is their actions in these moments that determine how they will be remembered.”
Hywel was reminded of Glain and her dreams. She had offered him similar counsel. “I will do what must be done.”
“I trust that you will,” Cerrigwen said plainly. “All that matters to me is my daughter. There is nothing I will not do to save her.”
Hywel respected her honesty, and he understood the warning in it. He was also starting to wonder which of them Clydog should fear most—Hywel or Cerrigwen.
Glain sat bolt upright, confused and shaking. It took several seconds to realize she had awakened in the scriptorium. The dream was still vivid, invasive, making it difficult to focus on her surroundings. And the horrible, heart-rending sadness was worse than before. Sleep had brought her no relief, none at all.
The dream had changed, but not how she had hoped it would. In the new vision, the first stag arose enraged and bested the second, overpowering his brother buck and crushing him beneath his fierce, thrashing hooves. Glain took this to mean that when faced with a final choice, Hywel would make the most ruthless one. Not that he would be wrong to do so, but she feared he still did not fully understand the consequences, or the lost opportunity.
Tears of hopelessness filled her eyes, but Glain forced them back. She noticed the air was warm around her, but her bones were still cold. The fire was fresh. And there was honey cake and tea, long gone cold. An attendant had been in the room while she slept—however long that had been.
Glain ate the cake and sipped the cold tea, knowing it had been hours, if not days, since she’d last eaten. If she had any memory of her last meal, she was unable to recall it. Alwen had cautioned against wasting time, and here she was still in a damp, dirty dress she’d been wearing for the past two days.
Glain dragged herself to her feet and forced them to carry her onward, dreading the inevitable encounters in the hallways and on the stairs. If only she had gone back to her room earlier. At first glance from the doorway, it seemed she had been granted a little luck.
There was but a single soul standing in the second-floor hallway. The wounded soldier, Pedr, appeared to be testing his strength. His back was turned to her. If she were quick, she could cross the hall to the stairs before he noticed. The last thing Glain wanted was to be forced into polite conversation.
And then i
t occurred to her that although polite conversation was not appealing to her, it might well benefit Pedr. She was the Proctor of the Stewardry, the mistress of the house. It was her duty to see to his comforts, even if doing so undermined hers.
“Well met, Pedr,” she called out. “It is good to see you up and about.”
He turned and walked toward her, more steady on his feet than most men would have been in a similar state. His arm was supported by a sling, to keep it immobilized so there would be no pulling on the half-healed injury to his shoulder, but Pedr was obviously much improved. He seemed taller and broader than when she’d last seen him. This time his color was healthy, but his expression was still grim. He did, however, seem pleased to see her.
“Did you find the tea and cakes?” Pedr asked.
“Yes,” she said, surprised and a little embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“The attendant did the work,” he deferred. “I merely made a suggestion.”
Glain suddenly felt unbearably self-conscious. “I was just on my way to change my dress.”
Pedr brushed aside her concern about her appearance. “I don’t see how you could have got half the sleep you need, especially in that chair, but some is better than none. You must remember to keep up your strength.”
Glain could only nod in response, for fear her voice would fail and embarrass her all the more. Twice now this man she barely knew had offered her the most unexpected and perfectly timed kindness. She couldn’t begin to think how she deserved such gestures, but she was grateful.
The slightest smile lifted Pedr’s lips as he turned to leave. “I’ll leave you to your business then. Ilan has made me promise to walk the length of this hall at least a dozen times, and I’m only halfway through.”
She waited for him to be on his way before making a quick escape up the stairs. If she had been in her right mind, Glain might have been flattered. As it was, she was all the more confused and uncertain. She would feel clear-headed and purposeful with a fresh dress and her familiar white robe.
The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) Page 26