“At last,” she said. “We’ll speak more on this later, but now go let Aslak in before he loses his patience and breaks through the door.”
Glain did as she was asked and waited for Aslak and the others to gather in the receptory, before joining Nerys at Alwen’s side. Alwen stood to greet Aslak and even embraced him. Glain had not seen her express such affection since Bledig had left.
“It’s the aleberry,” Nerys whispered. “I believe she’s taken too much.”
Glain wanted to giggle. It was a silly thought, but it could well be true. She decided to be watchful, just in case, while she listened to Aslak’s horrible account.
Aslak and Bledig had joined forces weeks before and failed to find any trace of Tanwen. On their way to rejoin Thorvald’s caravan on the road home, they’d met Hywel’s cadre, who were waiting with word that Ffion had been abducted and that Thorvald had been killed attempting to save her from the Hellion raiders. Goram, Aslak’s eldest son, had been badly wounded. It was decided that Bledig would lend his sword to Hywel’s campaign, and Aslak would see Goram and the sorceress in his care safely home.
“This sorceress”—Alwen indicated the small woman with a tip of her chin—“she is your charge, Goram?”
“Yes,” Goram said, stepping forward. His face was bruised and battered, and there was an obvious gore wound to his side that had to be causing him pain. It was clearly a struggle to stay upright, but he did. His lanky limbs made him look even taller than his brother, and his coloring was not as fair. But just like Thorvald, Goram had Aslak’s strong jaw, broad brow, and remarkable strength. “I bring you Raven, daughter of Branwen of Pwll.”
Alwen leaned forward as though she were trying to get a closer look. “Come forward then and be recognized as a child of the guild.”
“I come to claim my mother’s legacy,” Raven announced.
“Then your mother has passed on,” Alwen acknowledged. “How did she meet her end?”
“She became ill late in the last harvest season. There was nothing to be done but to watch her fade away.” Raven paused to take in a full breath, as if to bolster her courage in order to continue. “She did not linger long.”
“You are very brave to have journeyed so far to take on such a burden.” Alwen took a moment to regard the young sorceress more carefully. “Your devotion honors her memory. As do your looks, child. But for your youth, you could pass as her twin.”
Raven almost smiled. “Her bloodline runs strong in my veins.”
“Which is why you are here,” Alwen said. “Tell me, Raven. Do you know who I am?”
“Alwen, High Sorceress and guardian of the Spiritual Realm and leader of the Circle of Sages.” Raven recited the titles as though she had worked hard to memorize them.
“Yes,” said Alwen, fingering the amulet at her throat. “For the time being, I am also Sovereign of the Stewardry at Fane Gramarye. It is that title that requires me to be certain that you are who you say you are. Show me your proof, Raven, daughter of Branwen.”
“The pendant burns in your presence.” Raven pulled a silver chain over her head, and with it, her mother’s talisman. She held the necklace out to Alwen. “I bear the moonstone, the Key to the Celestial Realm.”
Alwen took the pendant into her hands and turned it backside-up to examine the casing, just as she had the bloodstone amulet Nerys now wore. Hidden in the engraved embellishments was the wizard signet, etched into the silver by Madoc himself. This mark testified that the amulet and its owner were true.
“The power of the amulets grows stronger in each other’s company.” Alwen glanced at Nerys, as though her words were meant for them both. “The heat is called the quickening. The key will reveal itself in this way only to its true owner.”
If Nerys were sharing the experience, she hid it well. Glain watched from the corner of her eye, feeling her old suspicions rise, until Nerys made a subtle move to reposition the pendant.
Alwen returned the moonstone to Raven. “Never again let this leave your person. Not unless I and I alone command you to do so.”
Raven rehung the pendant around her neck. “Am I now a sorceress of the Stewardry?”
“As your mother entrusted you with her secrets, I presume she also entrusted you with her knowledge,” Alwen said. “You are trained, are you not?”
“I know the traditional arts of your guild. My father’s people are known as the Norse. They have their own magic, which was also taught to me.”
Alwen was pleased. “What of your inborn gifts? Are you an oracle like your mother?”
Raven clasped her hands in front of her. “I can read the moon and the stars, and capture their light in the scrying stone, but my foresight is not always clear.”
“You need time and practice, but you are indeed a sorceress of the Stewardry.” Alwen signaled Nerys to bring the guard from the hall. “You may take your leave now. I hope you will feel welcome among us. The sentry will show you to your mother’s rooms and find a healer to make Goram more comfortable.”
Alwen waited for the sentry to escort the newcomers out and then straightened herself again as she faced those still remaining in the room. She had the scroll in her hands, and Glain felt her knees weaken. “There is just one more piece of business I shall conduct as Sovereign.”
Glain started to object, but Alwen waved her off.
“I hold here Madoc’s last testament.” Alwen raised the scroll for all to see. “There will come a time to officiate this properly, but I am too tired and too ill to fuss over protocol now. I enlist all of you as my witnesses. If any of you object, leave now.”
Glain could not believe what she was hearing. She half expected someone to walk out or argue. Alwen waited a full minute, and then continued.
“This testament names Glain as Madoc’s heir. I doubt this surprises any of you, but it was important that we have this proof of his intent. As of this moment, I relinquish my standing as Madoc’s proxy in favor of her birthright, and thereby proclaim Glain the true and rightful Sovereign of Fane Gramarye. From now forward I assume my own rightful place, as leader of the Stewards’ Council. The time to join the guardians and the power of the keys to the realms is coming, and I must prepare.”
Aslak was the only one among them brave enough to voice what they all were thinking. “Are you strong enough, Alwen?”
“Oh, I know it looks doubtful,” she agreed, “but I have reason to believe that the joining ritual itself shall be my salvation. You’ll just have to trust me, old friend.”
Aslak smiled at her with genuine fondness. “And I suppose I’ll just have to trust that you know where to find another guardian or two.”
Alwen laughed. “As it happens, Aslak, we are overrun with guardians. Fortunately, Nerys is of Tanwen’s bloodline, and I have no doubt that Ffion will be returned to us safe and sound. With Raven and me, the circle will be complete. And just this morning it was reported that Hywel’s soldiers have finally opened the cave that contains the Well of Tears.”
“And so the prophecy will be fulfilled after all,” Aslak said.
“So it would seem.” Alwen pulled herself out of her throne and turned to Glain. “This is yours now.”
Emrys shoved past Finn, who had been doing his best to keep Emrys contained. “Sovereign, a moment’s grace, I beg you.”
Aslak stepped between them. “Stand back, Emrys. You should not even be here.”
“It was she who let me in.” Emrys gestured wildly at Glain. “I ask only to be heard.”
Finn, who had not said a single word, spoke directly to Alwen. “We’ll deal with Emrys, in our own way.”
“No,” Alwen said, staring quizzically at Emrys. “If it is my judgment he wants, let it be so. If Glain will allow it, of course.”
Glain thought the entire scene bizarre, but no more bizarre than Emrys having been in possession of the scro
ll in the first place. “There are questions that only he can answer, and if he wishes to unburden himself, I think we should hear him out.”
Aslak stepped aside and Emrys stumbled forward, falling to his knees at Alwen’s feet. “I have failed you.”
“You have failed yourself, Emrys, and thereby us all, though we are still waiting to know how and why. Say what you have come to say, Emrys, so that we can be done here,” Alwen said.
And so it was that Emrys gave a sordid account of his fall from grace and how he had come to be Verica’s consort. To everyone else it was clear how easily he’d been duped, but Emrys told a tale of true love for which he had sacrificed everything, including his honor. He had denied the signs of artifice and never allowed himself to question her. But on the night he’d sent his men to search the grounds, Verica had come to him, offering the scroll in return for his help. She had said that she’d turned Ynyr’s spell against him so that she might claim his victories as her own when Machreth returned one day to establish the new order; and that now she wanted his help to put Euday out of her way as well. It was then that Emrys had realized what she was and how low he had fallen. In a fit of rage and self-loathing, he had killed Verica and stuffed her body beneath the floorboards in the abandoned dormitory in order to hide his own treason. Trusting that Euday would be discovered, Emrys had left him where Verica had abandoned him bound and blindfolded in the orchard. Finally, he had delivered the scroll to Glain’s room as an act of atonement, but it had not delivered him from his guilt.
When Emrys had finished, none among them seemed to know how to respond. Finn was stiff with fury, and Aslak looked sickened. Nerys was so staid that her feelings were a mystery, and Glain simply felt sad.
“Well?” Alwen looked to Glain. “Shall I answer, or shall you?”
“It is your forgiveness he came for,” Glain decided. “Perhaps this should be your last act as Sovereign.”
“Very well.” Alwen retook her seat on the throne and looked long and hard on Emrys. It was a pitiful sight, this once honorable man reduced to a sniveling wretch.
“Finn,” she said at last. “I shall leave his final fate to you and Aslak. Military justice has jurisdiction in this case, but whatever else you may decide, he cannot remain here. Glain need not suffer yet another traitor in her temple.”
She turned then to Emrys, who had been forced to his feet by Aslak’s less than kind hand on the neck of his tunic. “For my part, Emrys, I give you forgiveness, just as I would any poor fool who lost his way and tried to find the way back—but it is Madoc you have truly betrayed, and there can be no forgiveness for that.”
Emrys seemed comforted. The confession had given him the peace he was seeking, but Glain was not so sure she was glad for him. Her own spite reminded her that she had much yet to learn about grace in leadership. Alwen was far kinder than she would have been.
“Now,” Alwen said with finality, pulling once again to her feet and turning to Glain. “This is your throne at last.”
THIRTY
Glain found Bledig no less intimidating now than before he’d left to retrieve the last sorceress. There was a brusque warmth to the big, swarthy barbarian, but his gruff sense of humor often caught her off guard. In this way, Bledig reminded her of Rhys. Father and son also looked very much alike: the same dark hair and twinkling green eyes, which caused her to miss Rhys all the more. But Bledig had never seemed to take to her, and Glain could never quite tell what he was thinking. His devotion to Alwen, however, was unmistakable.
By the time Bledig and the others had arrived that morning, Alwen had become so weakened, she could barely stand. The blight on her hand had spread the length of her arm and was edging toward her heart. Ffion, as capable as she was, and even with the moss agate talisman she had accepted in honor of her mother, did not have any healing magic that seemed to do any good. Bledig had been at her side now for hours.
“I have asked Finn and Odwain to oversee the last of the excavation,” Glain explained. “They are doing what they can to make it safe for us to reach the well. Nerys is preparing Ffion and Raven for the rite. It’s nearly moonrise, but we will be ready.”
Alwen was pleased, but she also seemed sad. “And tomorrow you will be on your own.”
Glain had decided not to think about tomorrow, but she gave Alwen what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hywel would leave now, if he could. Some of his Gwynedd kinsmen are threatening another uprising. The king of Seisyllwg has been gone too long from his court, he says. The sooner he is seen at Dinefwyr with his brother and his Stewards the better.”
Hywel’s day is dawning, Alwen said, taking a careful tone. “You should know that Machreth has eluded us yet again, though he is no longer an immediate threat. Rhys intends to take residence with the mage hunters at Castell Banraven, but I think this does not surprise you.”
“No,” Glain admitted. It saddened her, but it did not surprise her.
Alwen offered her a sympathetic nod. “You have a new ally in Drydwen, the prioress of a temple called Elder Keep. I suggest you make plans to visit her very soon.”
“What is Elder Keep?” This was not the question Glain most wanted to ask, but it was the most appropriate at the moment.
“As I said, make plans to visit the prioress. She will tell you what you need to know.” Alwen was tiring too quickly. “I have left you my instructions and notes, along with Madoc’s writings, on his desk.”
Glain noticed the worry etched into Bledig’s brow. “Enough talk for now,” she said. “Let me pour you some aleberry.”
He followed her to the hearth. “She may not be strong enough to survive the rite.”
Glain shared his concern, but she also knew what was at stake. “The prophecy cannot come to pass until she joins the Circle of Sages and leads them to Dinefwyr. The fates turn on this moment, Bledig. It is a risk Alwen is willing to take.”
“What if I am not?” Bledig muttered. “I could put an end to this now.”
“But you won’t,” Glain said gently. Her heart hurt for him. Bledig had already sacrificed his daughter to the prophecy, and now the fates might well take Alwen from him. “And neither will I. We will trust her to know what she is doing, just as we always have.”
Bledig clearly resented this truth, but he did not deny it. “Then there is nothing left to be done but wait.”
Glain gave Alwen the cup and began aimlessly pacing the Sovereign’s chambers. These were her rooms now, though the idea was as strange and awkward to her as the indigo velvet robe with the gold brocade that she was wearing. At least it did not itch.
Soon Aslak and Finn arrived with Goram and Odwain, ready to help Bledig escort the sorceresses to the hidden cavern in the labyrinth beneath the Fane. Pedr had charge of the castle defenses while the ritual was being performed, a decision Glain had come to quite easily. Her circle of trust had dwindled to only a few, but she had begun to build again on the strength and character of this one man.
Nerys was waiting with Raven and Ffion in the hall. Hywel and his lieutenants led the way, with Glain close behind. Out of respect and care for Alwen, the procession was slow and cautious. Even for the hardiest among them, the narrow tunnel was still difficult to walk. The labyrinth had been rendered largely impassable except for the single passageway Hywel had ordered his men to clear.
The cavern that contained the Well of Tears was almost too cold to withstand. Tallow-oil lamps had been staked at even intervals around the cistern, tingeing the frosty white cave an eerie, fluttery yellow. Misty vapor hung in the air above the rocky dirt floor, and the walls were coated with thick layers of ice. The well waters were still a black crystal solid, as frozen and unyielding as the day Madoc had been trapped within their depths.
Robed in the indigo velvet mantle in which she had first arrived at the Fane, Alwen made a brave attempt to carry herself with ease and dignity, but the effort was diffi
cult, and it showed. The first time she stumbled on the uneven cavern floor, Glain was sure Bledig was going to leap to the Sovereign’s aid, but he managed to stop himself short. Glain admired his restraint and shared in his agony. Though they would both respect her need to appear commanding, the struggle was painful to watch.
The second stumble brought Alwen to her knees. Bledig came forward and offered her his arm. The gesture was both noble and loving, and it brought tears to Glain’s eyes. Alwen allowed him to help her to her feet and escort her as far as the well. Once they reached the edge of the pool, Alwen seemed to find new strength. She stood tall on her own, and Bledig stepped back into the shadows.
Alwen searched the marble sill surrounding the well and then knelt. She gestured to the others. “Look for the symbol that represents your realm, and take your place.”
As they moved to obey, she nodded with satisfaction. “This is just as it should be, just as my vision revealed to me.” She waited until each of the others had claimed a position in the circle and then removed the lapis amulet from around her neck and placed it upon the altar symbol carved in the marble before her. Alwen nodded to Ffion, Nerys, and Raven, indicating that they should do the same.
One by one the keys to the realms were laid upon their corresponding inscription—the moonstone and the stars, the bloodstone and the flame, the moss agate and the tree, the lapis and the rippling waves. Instantly, the jewel at the center of each pendant began to glimmer with an inner light that radiated a soft, warm glow. Each pendant emitted its own brilliant, colorful blaze. It was mesmerizing.
With her arms raised wide toward the sky, Alwen called upon the Ancients, invoking their power and their presence. The cavern floor shuddered.
“Where one arc ends another begins,” she pronounced. “Let this circle be forever forged.”
The glow from each jewel swelled, surging stronger and brighter, until the colors converged in a blinding flash of white. And just as quickly as it had begun, the joining ritual was complete. But there was more magic to be done.
The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) Page 31