Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6)

by Andrew Hunter

  That doesn’t make any sense at all, Garrett fumed.

  Your lack of understanding has no bearing on the reality of the situation, Brahnek said.

  This is making my head hurt, Garrett thought.

  You haven’t slept, ate, or drunk anything since noonday, Brahnek scoffed, That is why your head hurts.

  I think I’d throw up if I did, Garrett thought.

  A good purging focuses the senses, Brahnek said, Just don’t do it in front of your men.

  Ugh, Garrett thought with a disgusted frown. He glanced back at Lady Ymowyn who looked just as nervous as he felt.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Ymowyn whispered.

  “Yeah,” he whispered back, “Just... worried I guess.”

  “Haven will be fine,” she assured him, “She’ll have no trouble finding the keep. It’s rather difficult to miss.”

  “You think Cabre will come?” he asked.

  The fox woman’s eyes hardened. “If he doesn’t,” she answered, “We shall go to him.”

  Garrett sighed and looked away. “Listen, Ymowyn,” he whispered, “I know you hate him because of who he is... I kinda do too, but...”

  “But you no longer wish to kill him,” she said.

  “No,” he answered.

  Ymowyn put her hand on his arm, and he looked back to see her smiling sadly in the starlight.

  “I know you think me mad,” she whispered, “You are right to think it, but... Garrett, you are my lodestone, my compass. I never wanted to be what I became, Garrett. I never wanted to... hate anyone.”

  She sighed and then drew back her hand, pressing her furry muzzle into the sleeve of her dress as she wiped away an errant tear.

  “I... I want to be good, Garrett,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “That’s why I follow you, because you are good.”

  “But what if I’m not anymore?” he asked glumly.

  Lady Ymowyn shook her head. “Then no one can be,” she said.

  Garrett lowered his head and took a deep breath, trying to remember the sound of Uncle Tinjin’s voice, and wondering what he might say to him if he were here.

  “He returns,” spoke the disembodied voice of the dead elven lord Starweaver from the empty air at Garrett’s side.

  Garrett lifted his eyes to see Sir Baelan emerge from the side gate of the building across the street. The Astorran glanced quickly to the left and right and then, assured that they were unobserved, he waved for Garrett and the others to approach.

  Garrett hurried across the lane with Lady Ymowyn at his side. He had to trust that Starweaver followed as well, as the ghost chose to remain invisible, or nearly so. A glance back over his shoulder revealed a faint shimmer of light, like a fine mist, trailing behind Garrett.

  “I’ve sent the stable hands away for the night,” Sir Baelan explained as he guided them through the open gate, “We should not be disturbed until morning.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, getting a whiff of horse dung and hay as he entered the moonlit courtyard beyond the gate.

  “Follow me,” Sir Baelan instructed. He led them toward an enormous stone building with large, arched bays. He entered through the largest of the archways, and Garrett’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom within.

  Dozens of horses now nickered and shied away from the doors of their stalls. A large black horse whinnied fearfully and reared, kicking out its hooves and flaring its nostrils at Garrett’s approach.

  “See?” Garrett sighed, “Horses hate me.”

  “Not all of them, I think,” Starweaver’s spirit chuckled a he shimmered into his elven form at Garrett’s side. He lifted his ghostly hand toward a large stall at the far end of the stable where a massive gray warhorse tossed his black mane and nickered excitedly.

  “Hey! It’s Inglemer!” Garrett exclaimed.

  “Inglefras,” Sir Baelan corrected him as they neared the warhorse’s stall.

  “Yeah... Inglefras,” Garrett said in bemusement as he approached the prince’s horse, reaching out tentatively toward the huge creature.

  Inglefras pressed his nose into Garrett’s palm, snorting happily.

  Garrett gave a boyish laugh as he scratched at the horse’s throat. Inglefras playfully shoved him backward with a toss of his head.

  “A beautiful creature,” Starweaver said, his voice hushed with awe.

  “You see, Garrett,” Ymowyn laughed as she reached out to stroke the horse’s glossy mane, “There are still a few Astorrans that don’t wish you dead.”

  “Maybe we should make Inglefras king,” Garrett chuckled as he stepped back from the stall door.

  “His people once ruled here,” Starweaver mused, “It was only by their leave that we raised our first towers in this land.”

  “You asked the horses for permission?” Garrett replied incredulously.

  “We sought peace with all the creatures of the land,” Starweaver answered, his lambent eyes still on the mighty horse, “At least at first it was so. It was not until much later that we came to make choices for them... for their good, we told ourselves, to protect them from the evil that was to come.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, his mood darkening as he guessed what evil the elf might be referring to.

  “Upstairs,” Sir Baelan called out, beckoning them toward a broad staircase at the back corner of the stable.

  “See you later, Inglefras,” Garrett sighed, giving the horse one final pet before taking his leave.

  They followed Baelan toward the stairway, but Garrett paused, noting how Starweaver hesitated, his eyes still on the mighty warhorse now banging his shoulder against the door of his stall with an almost pleading look in his eyes.

  “He wants to run again,” Starweaver said.

  “The King no longer rides as he once did,” Sir Baelan answered grimly, “His heart for it has grown cold.”

  “And what would you know of my heart?” a ragged voice demanded loudly, making them all jump.

  Garrett spun to see a haggard young man in mail armor standing at the entrance to the stable. Two silver-pauldroned knights flanked him to either side, their hands on the pommels of their swords. The Prince’s dark hair, grown long now, bristled like straw, twined about with his steel crown, and his unshaven face twisted into a bitter sneer beneath his blank and staring eyes.

  “Cabre!” Garrett gasped.

  A chorus of whinnying horses filled the stable with fearful noise.

  “My King!” Sir Baelan cried out, sinking to one knee against the bannister of the stairs. Garrett fought the urge to bow as well, but Starweaver observed the formality, if somewhat stiffly. Garrett glanced toward Lady Ymowyn to see if he should follow suit, but the fox woman only stared mutely, her face drained of all expression.

  Cabre seemed to take no notice of them now as he walked, as though entranced, across the packed dirt floor toward Inglefras’s stall. His armored bodyguards followed close behind, their hands still on their weapons and their eyes, shadowed in the visors of their helms, upon Garrett and his companions.

  Inglefras grew increasingly agitated as the King approached, rearing up now and battering the stall’s thick wooden door with his iron-shod hooves. Every horse in the stable reared and cried out in terror as Cabre hesitated, his eyes brimming with tears.

  “Even you, Inglefras?” Cabre whispered brokenly, “Even you are my judge?”

  Inglefras splintered the frame of his stall with a mighty kick, rearing again and again to strike at the unyielding door with his hooves.

  “My King!” Sir Baelan cried out, “Perhaps we should go upstairs and speak further there.”

  Cabre’s haunted eyes turned toward Sir Baelan, and he nodded his agreement. For a moment, his gaze fell upon Garrett, but it could not hold, and Cabre’s eyes fell to the floor as he walked slowly toward the stairway.

  Garrett followed Sir Baelan upstairs and down a short hallway into a moonlit room nearly forty feet square with tall, narrow windows along its opposite wall, and
a long wooden table stretching the length of its floor. An arched hearth lay, cold and unlit, like a mouth of darkness in the stones of the wall furthest from the door.

  Garrett moved quickly to place himself on the far side of the table. Ymowyn and Starweaver followed, taking up position on either side of him. Sir Baelan waited at the doorway with his head bowed as the King and his bodyguards entered the room.

  “Thanks for coming,” he whispered to his two companions.

  “You honor us, Songreaver,” Starweaver answered.

  Ymowyn reached out and squeezed Garrett’s right hand, flashing him a tense smile and a quick nod before stepping back.

  Once Cabre and his men had taken their positions opposite Garrett on the far side of the table, Sir Baelan gently closed the thick wooden door, shutting out the cries of the horses below. Only the distant banging of Inglefras’s hooves still carried through the stone walls.

  Sir Baelan cleared his throat and passed his fingers through his sandy hair before announcing, “It is my honor to present Cabre Verdaan, King of all Astorra and its holdings. At his side stand the honorable knights, Sirs Dawkes and Caullings.”

  The two knights flanking the King nodded tersely in Sir Baelan’s direction, their hands finally leaving the pommels of their swords as they took a step back into the shadows behind their liege. Cabre, his pallid face, leant a ghostly glow by the moonlight that spilled through the window at Garrett’s back, now raised his hollow eyes to meet Garrett’s gaze.

  “I present to you, my King, Lord Garrett, known as the Songreaver to his people, and his companions, Lady Ymowyn, your subject and loyal Astorran, and Lord Starweaver, a... noble sovereign of these lands in former times.”

  “Am I to understand that you’ve come for the crown?” Cabre demanded hoarsely.

  “I don’t want your crown,” Garrett answered, “I just want people to know the truth.”

  Cabre flinched at these words, and Garrett saw a flicker of real fear in the man’s eyes. He could not be said to be a boy anymore, for he had aged visibly since their last meeting. A frost of gray shone at the temples of his dark hair, and lines creased his sallow brow as though compressed by the weight of his stolen crown. Dark shadows beneath his troubled eyes spoke of sleepless nights and tormented days. Garrett almost felt pity for him, almost.

  “Truth?” Cabre scoffed, his eyes falling to the table before him. He ran his fingers over its polished wooden surface as the distant pounding of Inglefras’s hooves sounded like the beat of a guilty heart in the still, dead air.

  “I want you tell the people of Astorra what happened,” Garrett demanded, “What really happened.”

  Cabre’s hand tightened into a fist, shaking as he drew it back from the table. His lips pulled back over his teeth as he met Garrett’s gaze again.

  “Why are you here?” he hissed, “What more do you want of me?”

  Garrett shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t given me anything!” he protested, “You tried to kill me... or have me killed, anyway! They were gonna burn me alive!”

  “I’m sorry!” Cabre sobbed stepping back from the table with his fists at his side, “I’m sorry, Garrett!”

  Garrett stared back at him, stunned by the words.

  “Can’t you see, Garrett?” Cabre moaned. He lifted his hands, almost pleading, as tears streaked down his cheeks, “You didn’t die... I did!”

  “You seem pretty alive to me,” Garrett muttered.

  We can rectify that, Brahnek’s voice chuckled in his mind.

  Garrett was about to say more, but he simply blinked in astonishment as Starweaver’s ghost stepped forward, passing through the table as he moved toward the startled king.

  Cabre took a step backward in alarm as the ghost approached him with his spectral hand outstretched. The King’s bodyguards stood motionless, perhaps too stunned to move, but Sir Baelan stepped forward quickly to intervene.

  “Lord Starweaver!” Baelan cried, lifting his hands in protest as he stepped between the King and the ghost.

  “His eyes!” Starweaver gasped, “Can you not see it in his eyes?”

  “See what?” Garrett demanded.

  Starweaver looked back at Garrett, his ghostly face filled with wonder. “He is Songborn!” the elven ghost cried.

  “What?” Garrett asked.

  Cabre looked just as confused as the ghost rounded on him again.

  “His eyes!” Starweaver cried, thrusting his hand directly through Sir Baelan’s shoulder as he pointed at Cabre, “He has my eyes!”

  Sir Baelan squirmed free of the ghost, wincing at the apparent discomfort of co-occupying his space. He looked to his king for explanation but saw only the same confusion in Cabre’s eyes.

  “Do not be afraid,” Starweaver whispered as he flickered past Baelan’s guard and reached out again toward the haggard young man.

  Still Cabre’s guards made no move to interfere but simply shared a bewildered glance with one another as the ghost advanced on their king.

  “What are you doing?” Cabre whispered, his eyes wide with fear and seemingly frozen in his steps as the elven ghost reached out to take his hand.

  Starweaver shuddered, bowing his head as he wrapped his ghostly fingers around Cabre’s hand.

  Garrett looked to Ymowyn, but the fox woman’s face registered no comprehension as she stared, wide-eyed and trembling at the men across the table.

  “Your mother!” Starweaver gasped as he seemed to come to his senses again, “Your mother bore my blood... my daughter’s blood!”

  Cabre stared at the ghost in shock as Starweaver, now grinning broadly, stepped away.

  “We are kin, you and I! Kin!” Starweaver laughed. He spun to look back at Garrett, his lambent eyes full of joy. “I’d thought them lost!” he exclaimed, “I thought my children all dead, but they lived! They lived!”

  “Can elves do that?” Garrett demanded, “I mean, an elf and a human...”

  Yes, Brahnek’s voice whispered coldly in his mind.

  “Wait, so Cabre is Starweaver’s... grandson, I guess,” Garrett wondered aloud, trying to juggle the concept in his empty hands.

  And our distant cousin, it would seem, Brahnek sighed.

  Cabre stared in baffled horror as the manic elven ghost turned to face him again.

  “You’re alive!” Starweaver laughed, “My sweet child, you’re alive!”

  “I don’t know you,” Cabre whispered, his voice barely audible.

  “That doesn’t matter!” Starweaver exclaimed happily, “I know you! You are the true heir to the throne of Kilkaelam!”

  Garrett lifted his hands in dismay and let out a disgusted groan. He’d come all this way to knock Cabre off his pedestal, and now his own ghost was making the guy king of everything.

  “Songreaver!” the elven ghost cried as he looked to Garrett again, “I know you have grievance with this boy, but I beg you, please allow me to stand for him! I will make amends for any wrong he has done you, however I may. If you must have vengeance, then take it upon me, your ancient foe. Spare, I beg you, this last of my seed, my only living kin!”

  “I don’t want to kill him!” Garrett cried, in exasperation, “I just don’t want the people to hate me for something I didn’t do anymore!”

  Cabre’s eyes took on their hollow look once again, and his face twisted into a grimace as he shook his head.

  “The truth, my child!” Starweaver whispered fervently as he reached toward Cabre again, “The truth will cure you of this dark malaise that now devours your soul. Speak it and be free, my son!”

  Cabre shook his head even more emphatically now as he backed away another step from the ghost.

  “He speaks the truth, my King!” Sir Baelan cried, falling to his knees at Cabre’s feet, “This stain upon your honor is destroying you... It is destroying your kingdom as well.”

  Cabre cast a fearful glance back at the two guardsmen behind him, but the men showed no emotion as they stood with their backs to the wall.


  “This is some kind of trick,” Cabre murmured. He looked at Garrett suspiciously.

  “No,” Garrett said glumly, shaking his head, “I don’t know what any of this is, but it’s not a trick... I didn’t plan any of this... I just wanted to see you again and to tell you... fesche I don’t even know what I wanted to tell you anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

  He looked up to see Cabre watching him with the same look of utter devastation that Graelle had on his face when Garrett killed his dragon.

  “You know what?” Garrett sighed, “I don’t care... I really don’t. I’ll be the Kingslayer, or whatever else you guys wanna call me. I’ll leave Astorra and never come back... on one condition.”

  Cabre’s lips trembled as he stared at Garrett in stunned silence.

  “Stop being such a knob to people like Ymowyn here!” Garrett said, lifting his hand toward the fox woman at his side, “They’re Astorrans too, and they need your protection, so... protect them. Be the prince you used to be, the prince we all believed you were... be their king!” He raised his hand toward Starweaver now. “The fae live here too, and now, I guess, you’re kinda related, so you might want to look out for them too, and the only way you’re gonna do that is to kick the Chadiri out.”

  The faint glimmer of hope in Cabre’s eyes died. The King’s shoulders sagged, and his eyes fell.

  “They are too strong,” he whispered hopelessly, “Even my father knew he could not defeat them.”

  “No, sire!” Sir Baelan said, rising to his feet with his hands stretched out imploringly, “The strongest foe cannot defeat a true heart!”

  “A true heart?” Cabre sobbed, “My heart was sundered by the same blade that pierced my father’s.”

  “Your heart yet beats, my King!” Sir Baelan insisted, “It may yet beat true again and lead your people to victory over the beasts that now stain our lands with children’s ashes!”

  Cabre backed away another step, his hopeless face falling into shadow as his hands hung limply at his side. “It’s too late,” he rasped, “It’s too late.”

  Sir Baelan’s jaw shook as he fought to hold back his emotions. At last, he turned his back on the King and pressed his knuckles into the table, his shoulders trembling.