The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Aye, my lord,” the captain said gruffly. He produced some irons and quickly shackled Owen’s wrists together. But Owen had meant what he’d said—he did not care about his personal well-being, only about the fate of Ceredigion. His eyes were fixed on the board as Severn hovered over it and then reached down and moved the black king against the white tower.

  Owen felt something shift in his mind, the strange magical sensation that accompanied the movement of one of the pieces on the Wizr board. He wanted to rush against the king and stop it from happening, but he could only stare helplessly as the king lowered the lid on the board and locked it in its case.

  Stuffing the key into his pocket, he turned to Kathryn. “Wait for me here, Kathryn.” Then he turned to Owen once more. “I’ll give your regards to the Mortimer brat,” Severn said viciously as he left the tent.

  Owen hung his head, seething and twisting his wrists against the iron cuffs. The tent was surrounded by soldiers wearing the symbol of the white boar. He could see them through the flaps as the king left.

  What could he do but wait for Evie’s army to be destroyed? He felt impotent, furious, and filled with despair. His eyes found Kathryn, still sitting on the edge of the chest, stroking the boy’s flaxen hair with a feverish, protective air, her other arm wrapped around him. “You must set me free,” he whispered.

  “To what purpose?” she answered pathetically. “You’re in the midst of Severn’s army, and you’re a known traitor. It is over, Owen. It is all undone.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at her son’s face.

  She was right, he knew. And it was a torture worse than death to have to listen to Severn’s army attack the walls of the castle of his childhood, knowing all along that he was fated to win. But it frightened him even more to think of what would happen to the children of the realm after he achieved his victory.

  And it was in that moment of utter despair that he heard the sound of lapping waters from the distance. His heart began to quicken with hope. It was a familiar sound, a comforting one. Sinia.

  The tent flap rustled and a woman cloaked in mist entered. The mist dissolved away, revealing Sinia, a determined look on her face. Not a single snowflake stuck to her.

  “Who are you?” Lady Kathryn asked, coming quickly to her feet. Drew stood as well, gazing at her in wonder.

  “I am here to help you,” she answered with a knowing smile. She looked at Owen, her eyes full of emotion. “I came as quickly as I could.”

  “How did you travel without a fountain?” Owen asked eagerly. He’d nearly given up hope.

  “The fountains are the anchor points,” she said, “but I can travel anywhere along the line. We do not have time for explanations. First, you won’t need those anymore,” she said, gesturing at the chains securing his wrists. “Anoichto,” she whispered. The locks on the cuffs unfastened, and the chains dropped to the fur blanket with a rattling noise.

  Owen rose, and she rushed into his arms. He hugged her fiercely, his heart swelling with relief. He looked down at her upturned face.

  “I’m sorry, my love,” she whispered to him. “The agony you’ve felt. I can feel it keenly myself. You’re injured, and in pain.” She took his hands and squeezed them hard. “You must go. You must leave the camp immediately. I’m going to call down a storm to end this battle. Take Kathryn and Andrew and flee back to your army. I’ve magicked the guards outside. Get these two far away. Bring them to Brythonica. If you leave now, you should make it before the blizzard overwhelms you. My soldiers will help you escape.”

  Owen looked at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “The game is ending,” she said. “Severn won’t relinquish the crown, and now he knows too much. He will invoke the curse deliberately.”

  “Have you seen this in a vision?” Owen said in despair. “Is there nothing we can do to save the people?”

  Sinia was so distraught, it looked like she was in physical pain. “I saw, in a vision, a field of white, with dead soldiers in the snow. There were ravens flying overhead. Owen, I cannot change what I saw. I don’t know what it means, but I know that to prevent the blizzard from destroying the kingdom, I must summon a storm to this place.”

  She looked agitated, but it was clear she was determined to do her duty despite the cost.

  Something wasn’t right, and it nagged at Owen. “Hold a moment,” he said, breaking her clasp and beginning to pace.

  “Owen, there isn’t time,” Sinia pleaded. “We must get away! The move was made. The board is acting on it.”

  Something snicked inside Owen’s mind. He straightened, his eyes widening. “Then we unmake the move. We change the pattern.” He went to the small table with the Wizr board. Moments before, he had despaired of opening it, but Sinia had just taught him another word of power.

  “Anoichto,” he said to the board, and heard the lock release. When he opened the board, the black king was moving to occupy the space of the white tower. He reached for the piece, but he felt a jolt shoot up his arm that nearly stopped his heart from beating.

  “Drew,” he gasped, gesturing for the boy. “Move the piece away. Move the tower back to Atabyrion, over there.” He pointed to the space on the board.

  The boy looked at him warily, trembling. He sidled closer to his mother, shaking his head no. Her arms were clinging around his body, holding on to him as if he’d blow away in a storm.

  “Please!” Owen said. “You’re the only one of us who can use the board right now! It will protect Genevieve’s parents. It will keep them alive.”

  Upon hearing those words, Drew nodded with firm commitment. He struggled free of his mother’s clasp, hurried to the board, and reached in to drag the white tower across the board to the spot Owen had directed. He did it as easily as if it were a normal Wizr piece. As soon as his fingers released, Owen felt the shifting happen again. A spark of hope caught fire in his heart. He saw the pieces fitting together in his mind, and he knew why the Fountain had chosen him to be here at this moment. His own gift would work with Drew’s to save them. Looking down at the board, he saw the strategy unfold.

  “What are you thinking?” Sinia asked Owen, her eyes wide with curiosity and approval.

  “I think I understand the meaning of your vision,” Owen said, feeling a smile creep across his face. “He has a childhood fear of ravens,” Owen said. “Go back to your army. Each of your soldiers has a badge or a flag with the raven symbol. Use your magic, Sinia. Breathe life into the ravens and send them to attack the king’s army. There is something powerful about fear. I think it will help me turn the king. He needs to know that he murdered his true nephew. That this boy is the true heir, not an imposter.” He looked at Drew. “The king is your great-uncle, lad. You are an Argentine. Remember when I took you to see the funeral boats? That was your father!”

  The boy started with surprise, his eyes riveted on Owen. Slowly, he let out his breath and gave a short nod.

  “The king didn’t understand what he was doing, lad. What he needs is forgiveness. Not because he is good. But because you are good. If we do not break this cycle, it will keep happening over and over again. Pity him. Or all is lost.”

  Sinia shook her head. “I can’t leave you here with him. You or the child! No, my love. Don’t ask me to do that!”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Trust me. This is why we are both here. Fill the sky with ravens. Send them to attack us. Now.”

  Sinia looked worried, an expression he wasn’t accustomed to from her. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then she vanished in a plume of white mist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Ravens

  A cheer of triumph came from the camp, the noise rousing Owen from his pondering and pacing. Kathryn clutched Drew to her bosom, her eyes full of fear and dread. Owen halted and cocked his head at the sound. Then he turned and stared at the Wizr board. The pieces had shifted again. The black king was still poised next to where the tower had been, its progress
halted. The knight representing Iago was now in a position to threaten the king.

  “What is happening out there?” Owen said in confusion. He saw that the white Wizr was back where it had been previously, indicating Sinia had returned to her army. How long would it take for the ravens to arrive?

  “Did Severn win?” Kathryn asked nervously.

  “Go outside the tent. Find one of Severn’s captains. Ask him.”

  Pausing only to cast a worried look at the young boy, Kathryn stole outside the tent, her black, jeweled gown sparkling in contrast to the pale snow-light outside.

  Drew stared up into Owen’s eyes, unflinching. “I didn’t know that man was my father.”

  Owen dropped down onto one knee near him. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I tried everything I could to spare his life. Your mother and he, they used to write to each other in the margins of books. I was their messenger.”

  The lad looked more uncomfortable. “When did we first meet? Were you the one who brought me to Dundrennan?”

  “I was there when you were born. From the moment I held you in my arms,” Owen said in a hushed tone, “the Fountain told me it was you. It told me to resurrect you. It told me to protect you. I’ve done the best I could do, lad, under very difficult circumstances.”

  Drew nodded, his lips quavering, his eyes widening at the confession. “I know you have, my lord. If I don’t forgive him, will I become the black king?”

  “When you become King of Ceredigion, this piece will turn white, I think. The game will change, but it will continue as it should. The blizzard will end. You will already start with many loyal to you. You won’t be alone.”

  He looked a little greensick. “I never dreamed of becoming king,” he said in a choked voice, “but I think a king should show mercy.” He took a steadying breath. “I think I can forgive him. It won’t be easy.”

  Owen laughed softly, feeling his heart ache for the lad. “It will not.” He gave the lad a pat on the back and stood and started pacing again. Kathryn reappeared a short time later, fresh flakes of snow scattered across her shoulders and bodice.

  “The king has breached the outer wall of Dundrennan,” she said, her voice shaking with fear and the chill of winter. “They’re fighting Iago’s men in the bailey yard, but the keep is holding. The Atabyrions show no sign of retreating.”

  Owen frowned at the news. Was Evie still there? The position on the board told him that she was not, and his instincts confirmed it. Iago wouldn’t run from a fight.

  Kathryn approached Owen, her face full of conflicting emotions. “What will happen to the king if he’s defeated? Will you put him to death?”

  Owen gave her a hard look. “Only if he won’t surrender. I don’t seek his blood, Kathryn. While I see the cruel man he’s become, I can understand how he came to be this person through the choices he’s made.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I told Drew about Eyric. He knows about his father.”

  Kathryn clasped her hands together and started to pace back and forth, mimicking Owen’s anxiety from moments before. Then she went to her son and hugged him close. She had tears in her eyes. “What will you do if the king surrenders? Will you spare his life?”

  Owen looked at her, his brow furrowing. “You’re pleading for him?”

  Kathryn bit her lip, looking up at Owen. “I . . . I don’t know what to think. I should be happy to be free of him. Yet, it would pain me to see him suffer in a dungeon. To see him treated as my lord husband was treated. To be deprived of so much, if he gave up the crown.” She shook her head and returned her attention to Drew. “I don’t know, my son. I’m torn.”

  “Kathryn, he used his magic on you,” Owen said. “You know this.”

  She did. He could see it in her eyes. But there was a part of her that cared for him regardless. The magic hadn’t worked on empty feelings. All his kindnesses, all his gifts, all his adoration had impacted her over the years.

  Drew’s face was twisted with confusion and concern. The boy was too young to be dealing with such adult conflicts!

  The sound of approaching boots was the only warning before the tent flap flung open and Severn Argentine strode inside, his armor encrusted with ice and frozen blood. He had a ferocious look, and he was limping severely, his armored hand pressing a wound at his side. He hobbled to the camp chair and flopped himself down onto it, breathing in ragged gasps.

  “Fetch my surgeon,” the king said to Kathryn. Then his eyes found Owen, and he glanced around until his gaze found the chains that lay in a heap on the pallet.

  Owen sensed the king was going to reach for his dagger to defend himself, and before it could happen, he raised his hands. “I’m not waiting to ambush you, my lord. Your guards patrol the tent.”

  “How did you get free?” the king snarled, his nostrils flaring with fury.

  “The same way I opened the board,” Owen said, gesturing to the table. “You are defeated, my lord. Threat and mate.”

  “But how?” Severn demanded, stifling a groan as he shuffled to his feet. He limped to the board, breathing hard and fast, and stared in astonishment at the change in the pieces. “How did the tower . . . ? I’ve not touched . . . how did this happen?” His face was twisted with confusion and a budding sense of fear. “Only an heir can move the pieces! How did you manage it?”

  “Because the heir is in this tent. Lord Bletchley didn’t murder Eyric. You arranged that yourself. The boy is Eyric’s son! Kathryn is his mother. Don’t you see why she never gave in to you? She knew the truth, as did I. This is the last truth, Severn Argentine. This is the last secret. And it is your last chance! Look at the board. Do you see the army of Brythonica? The white Wizr is coming to defeat you.”

  The king’s lips quivered. His eyes were wide with shock, and his skin had gone chalk-gray. He stared at Kathryn, then at the boy who was looking up at him with something like defiance. “You want to play games with me, Owen? Another trick? Another vision?”

  Owen shook his head. “What is the most powerful piece on the board, my lord? Even the king is powerless against the Wizr. I’ve tried to warn you. I’ve given you every chance to end this madness. But I will not let you destroy your kingdom out of spite.”

  Kathryn stood near the tent door, her eyes full of fear and awe. She was edging toward the tent door with Drew, as if she intended to flee with him in case the king turned violent.

  “You have nothing!” Severn shouted. “This is a trick! It’s one of your ploys. I put your army to flight. Your life is in my hands. I could kill you this very moment.”

  Owen stepped closer. “And why haven’t you, my lord? What prevents you from destroying me? Because you remember the shivering little boy I used to be? The one you used to taunt at breakfast? Your special child. Because I’m Fountain-blessed, as are you. Because I’m the only other person who understands you. Even if I grieve at what you’ve become.”

  The king’s face contorted. He began to draw the dagger from his belt, and Owen worried he’d said too much—a worry that only heightened when Kathryn cried out in alarm—but the king slammed the weapon back into its scabbard in the nervous gesture Owen remembered from his youth. He repeated the motion and started to pace the tent, his eyes haunting and desperate.

  And that was the moment the ravens began their attack.

  The sound of flapping wings, the bark-like croaking, filled the sky over the army. Shouts of fear started up in the camp. And then the shouts became cries of pain and terror.

  “What is happening?” Severn exclaimed.

  Lady Kathryn and Drew were nearly knocked to the ground as one of the king’s captains burst inside the tent. “My lord! Ravens! They’re falling on us from the sky!”

  “Speak sense, man!” the king roared. “It’s winter. There are no ravens!”

  “They’re huge! These are no beasts of nature, sire, and they’re swooping down on us. They’re killing your soldiers!”

  Suddenly there was a heavy thump on the king�
�s tent and several black shapes began clawing and shredding at the pavilion fabric with beaks and talons. The cry of the ravens was primal and fierce, and Owen felt his own heart quail. Drew pulled his mother over to one of the braziers, where she maneuvered herself in front of him, protecting his body with her own.

  The look of fear and uncertainty on Severn’s face showed Owen that his plan had worked. When he reached out to the king with his magic, he saw that all the man’s sense and reason had fled beneath the onslaught and the guilt of what he had done to his own flesh and blood.

  “Get them away! Keep them away from me!” the king gibbered.

  The captain took one look at the utter fear and helplessness in Severn’s eyes and turned and fled for his own life. Moments later, Owen watched as the captain was obscured by a pair of jet-black wings and a set of claws raking his face. The camp was full of commotion as the men tried to escape and were hunted down by the cawing, merciless beaks and razor-sharp talons. Owen’s heart began to thrill.

  Severn hunkered down on his knees and stared up at the shredding fabric of the tent. Black beaks poked through the holes, screaming down at them. Kathryn shrieked with terror, turning away her face and pulling Drew closer to her. The boy wasn’t afraid. He was staring at the display of magical birds with rapture. Owen felt the magic of the Fountain whirling around him. These were magical creatures, and he knew through experience that his particular set of abilities would protect him from them.

  “No! No!” the king groaned in terror, his face white, his lips quivering.

  “Yield,” Owen implored, standing before him, his hand outstretched.

  One of the ravens was nearly inside the tent, its beak snapping viciously. The cacophony of noise from the terrified camp filled the air, but Owen’s eyes were riveted to the king’s face.

  Severn shrank from the threat, scrabbling backward on his arms and leg, exposing the wound in his side, which seemed to drive the birds into a frenzy.