Wizard’s Heir
A Bard Without a Star Book 1
by Michael A. Hooten
Text Copyright © 2013 Michael A. Hooten
All Rights Reserved
Cover Photo: Fantasy fireplace
© Unholyvault | Dreamstime.com
For my wife Kristin, who is the most magical person I know
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Choice
Chapter 2: Training
Chapter 3: Librarian
Chapter 4: Enigma
Chapter 5: Deer
Chapter 6: Wolf
Chapter 7: Boar
Chapter 8: Transformations
Other books by Michael A. Hooten, available from Amazon.com:
Cricket’s Song
Book 1: The Cricket Learns to Sing
Book2: A Cricket at Court
Book 3: The Cricket That Roared
Chapter 1: Choice
Math ap Mathonwy sat upon his tower throne at Caer Dathyl, stroking his long white beard absently. Every now and then he glanced at Goewin, the beautiful girl who held his feet, who smiled back at him warmly. A twinkle appeared in his eyes, but nothing else changed. Wide windows, arched and open to the air, surrounded him, and the wind whistled through the chamber, coming from all over the country of Glencairck and beyond.
They said he could see men’s souls, or that he could hear their very thoughts. Some called him evil, but some called him benevolent. Some said he was possessed by a demon, but most others whispered about the magic of his Cymry blood. The people of Glencairck said many things about the lord of Gwynedd, but very few said them to his face. Math heard most of it anyway, brought to him by the wind.
At the moment though, he was not concerned with what was said about him, or about anything else the winds told him. Just then, he was trying to use the winds in a way that he hadn’t been able to before: he was trying to call his nephew.
In a lower chamber of the Caer, Gwydion ap Don plucked a slow, seductive song from the strings of his harp with long fingers. Although the early morning sun shone brightly outside, the room was windowless; candles caught highlights from his long chestnut hair, and cast soft shadows around his handsome face.
He could feel the song vibrating around him, full of power and possibility, although Lanali, the young girl who was his only audience, seemed unaware of it. He lowered his voice, and the candles dimmed slowly, almost imperceptibly. The girl sighed once, her face relaxed and open, and Gwydion brought his song to a close.
“That was wonderful,” she said. “You are very talented, my lord.”
“And you are very beautiful, my lady,” he said with a bow.
She giggled at his compliment; although the two colors in her cloak marked her as free, she hardly had the rank to be called a lady. Gwydion laid his harp down and sat beside her.
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t be thinking that you can try anything with me, my lord,” she cautioned. “I’ve heard stories about you.”
He feigned shock. “But I am innocent and harmless, I swear.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “I doubt that.”
“Those stories are just nasty rumors designed to make my uncle doubt my abilities to succeed him. You know that some people would rather see anyone as Lord of Caer Dathyl except me.”
“But everyone admires you.”
He gave a little shrug and began stroking her honey blond hair. “Admiration is not the same thing as love.”
“Well, I love you,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the lips. He returned it passionately, making her pull back. “Wait, please. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Alright,” he said, sitting back. He could feel the last echoes of the song, and changed them just a little. “You’re not warm, are you?”
Almost unconsciously, she began fanning her face. “I am a little.”
“You can take off your cloak, if you like.”
“I don’t know. It’s just the two of us. What if somebody came in?”
“No one will interrupt us,” he promised. “And it’s not like I’m asking you to take off your dress.”
She giggled nervously, but stood and unfastened the brooch at her neck. He was surprised again at how his heart raced from just the simple act of removing a cloak. It wasn’t as if it revealed any more of her body; he had been able to see the simple dress she wore beneath the mantle from the moment she walked in. He supposed it had to do with the fact that it was the first step in the seduction, the first taste of victory.
And she was lovely. Despite her work worn hands, her face had caused more than one young man’s heart to flip, but she held herself properly aloof from all advances until Gwydion began seeing her. For two months she had resisted most anything but a kiss, but this morning he felt confident in taking her completely.
He kissed the curve of her neck when she sat back down. “You are indeed beautiful,” he murmured in her ear.
“Thank you,” she said with a giggle that bordered on a throaty laugh.
Almost, he thought, moving towards her ear.
A breeze blew under the door, making the candles flicker and his head buzz. “What’s wrong?” Lanali asked, and Gwydion realized he had pulled away from her.
“Nothing, my love,” he said, trying to ignore the growing discomfort. He tried to kiss her again, but his mouth had gone dry, and he started coughing instead.
“My lord,” Lanali said. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m—” He stopped, momentarily stunned when the buzzing became words.
Nephew, come here. Now.
Eyes full of wonder, Gwydion said, “I have to go.”
“Now? Are you sure? I mean, I thought...” She stopped, flustered. “Will you come back?”
“When I can, sweetheart. I promise.”
Gwydion hurried out of the room and up towards Math’s tower. Something in his face made people get out of his way quickly, and he climbed the tower stairs two at a time.
Math did not even blink when he burst into the room, although Goewin jumped. “Welcome,” the old man said gravely.
“You called me,” Gwydion said, breathing hard. “I heard you call me.”
“You are out of breath. Take a moment and compose yourself.”
“It’s nothing,” the boy answered, although he began straightening his tunic. “What I want to know is how I heard you.”
“Patience, lad, patience.” Math indicated a side table. “Get yourself something to drink, and catch your breath.”
Gwydion wanted to say more, but he abruptly shut his mouth and marched over to the table against the wall and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it quickly, poured himself another, and turned back to Math. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Math steepled his fingers. “You know, I have lived a very long time,” he said.
Gwydion forced himself to answer calmly. “I believe it’s close to two hundred years, isn’t it?”
“A bit longer, actually. I have watched my family grow old and die, and their children as well. You are of the line of Don, my beloved sister, as is Gilventhy, but your grandparents were one of her grandchildren. And in all those generations, I have never designated an heir. Do you know why?”
He wanted to make a sarcastic comment, but instead he simply said, “No. Why?”
“Because I never found someone who was capable of using my power.”
“But you have said you wanted me to be heir.”
“I have wanted many people to be my heir. But none have been talented enough.”
Gwydion began to get excited. “Until today?”
&
nbsp; “Until today.” Math’s shoulders relaxed and he crossed his hands over his beard. “I sent a call on the wind, and the wind knew your name and found you. But even more, you understood. So tomorrow, in front of the entire Caer, we will make the pronouncement.”
“Thank you, uncle. I am honored.”
“You’re welcome, nephew. But I must warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” the boy said.
Math’s eyes grew dark. “Stories are told of your liberties, especially with the young ladies. I will not ask you whether or not they are true; I will simply tell you to stop.”
“But I—” At the look in his uncle’s eyes, Gwydion stood a little straighter and said, “I don’t understand why it’s such a crime. The priests preach against it, but I think that it’s a perfectly natural thing for people my age to experiment with.”
“You are not truly natural, nephew, as we have just discovered. And remember that despite my age, I was young once, and felt the giddiness of lust. But the laws of the Creator are fair and just and there are reasons for them even if we don’t understand them all. In order to be the best leader you can, though, you must follow them more closely than anyone.”
Gwydion thought about arguing, but saw that his uncle wasn’t going to relent. “As you command,” he said. “I will do my best.”
“Make sure that you do.”
When Gwydion left the tower, he went down to the courtyards where the soldiers trained. Looking at the crowd of young men and women hard at work in the dusty rings, he couldn’t spot the face he was looking for. “Excuse me,” he said to a young kern taking a rest nearby. “Have you seen Gilventhy ap Don?”
“Over there,” the man said, pointing with his chin. “With the claymores.”
“I should have known. My thanks.”
The kern just grunted, and began rubbing the back of his neck.
Gwydion wandered over to where two tall boys hacked at each other with four foot long swords wrapped in wicker. Despite the sweat pouring off his face and back, the darker of the two grinned; he swung his practice blade gracefully and soon defeated his opponent.
“Good match, Nudd,” he said, extending his hand.
The other boy shook it and said, “I don’t know how you do it, Gil. I’m worn out after five minutes with these blasted claymores, but you’ve already fought six of us today.”
“And beaten you all,” Gilventhy said easily. “It’s just practice.” He looked around at the other boys. “Any other takers?”
Gwydion stepped forward. “Gil, I need to talk to you.”
Grinning slyly, the tall boy said, “Well, won’t this be interesting. Somebody throw my cousin a blade.”
“No wait!” Gwydion said. “I didn’t mean—” Helpful hands removed his cloak and gave him a choice of wicker wrapped swords. He cursed as he chose one, and hefted it in resignation. “Let’s get this over with.”
Gilventhy clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “You have to try, at least. I won’t have you giving up right at the beginning.”
“No, you’ll just beat me black and blue for a while.”
His cousin grinned fiercely and swung his sword up with both hands. “Well, I have to have some fun, don’t I?”
“Not if you ask me.”
Gilventhy made a casual swipe that Gwydion managed to parry, although he could feel his teeth rattle. Sweat rolled down his back as he tried just to hold his own, but his cousin’s skill with the great swords was well known, and within moments Gwydion felt the sting of metal backed wicker against his side.
“I concede,” he gasped, glad that it was over.
“I don’t accept, cousin.”
“What? But you have to. A hit like that with a sharp claymore would have split a man, even if he had been wearing mail.”
Gilventhy grinned. “But you’re still standing.” He swung the great sword easily, and knocked Gwydion off his feet.
He landed flat on his back, and the world went dark for a moment as the breath went out of him. The ringing in his ears felt familiar, like a song that he almost remembered, but voices intruded.
“Is he okay?”
“Of course not, stupid. People don’t just lie there like that.”
“I don’t think he’s breathing.”
“You killed him, Gil.”
“Nonsense,” Gilventhy answered. “He’s just trying to get some sympathy is all.”
Gwydion wanted to tell them all to shut up, but he didn’t want to ruin the song. If only he could place it...
Unfortunately, his lungs began to burn, and when he took a breath, the music faded completely. Gwydion began to cough, and the other boys helped him sit up and pounded his back while he tried to regain his composure. As soon as his breathing felt normal again, he cocked an eye at his cousin and said, “I suppose that you enjoyed that?”
Gilventhy laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face! Your eyes looked like grapes that were about to pop!”
“I’ll remember this, cousin.”
“What are you going to do? I’ve always been the stronger, and I always will.”
“Always is a long time. Now help me up.”
Gilventhy stepped forward and extended his hand, which Gwydion took and used to get his feet under him. He wanted to punch the taller boy, but he just dusted himself off instead, and told the rest of the boys, “The show is over. You can go away now.”
They dispersed, still grinning, with murmurs of, “Yes, Gwydion,” and “Of course, my lord.” He hated them all.
Fingering a rip in his tunic, Gwydion turned back to his cousin and said, “All I wanted to do was talk, and you beat me up and destroy my clothes.”
“So talk.”
“I don’t think I will, now. I think that the news I brought was not worth a drubbing, and I want the curiosity to eat you alive.”
Gilventhy walked over to the water barrel in the corner. “You know I’m not like that.” He dipped out a ladle full of water and drank it, and poured another over his head.
Gwydion took his own drink. “No, it wouldn’t bother you at all if I knew something you didn’t, would it?”
“Even if it did, I think I would hide it from you just to aggravate you.”
“You’re lucky you’re my best friend, you know that?”
“I suppose.” Gilventhy wiped himself off with a towel and slid his tunic back over his head. “But it is fun watching you lose your temper.”
“Oh, right, now I’m your personal clown.”
“Everybody should have one.”
“Even if that clown is the heir apparent to the throne of Cantref Gwynedd?”
“But Math hasn’t officially designated you...”
“He’s going to tomorrow.”
Gilventhy’s eyes grew wide. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I just came from the tower.”
“But you have to be seventeen to be an official heir, and the last time I checked, you were over a year shy.”
“I’m almost sixteen.” Gwydion smiled and said, “Besides, I can hear the winds.”
Gilventhy froze. “You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
“You have to be. Only Math can hear the winds.”
“He called me with them today, and I heard.”
“But that means...”
“...that soon I’ll know everything Math knows.”
“I am lucky I’m your best friend.”
“That’s right. So you’d better stop beating me up.”
Gilventhy snorted. “You just need to practice more.” A bell sounded, and the tall boy rose gracefully to his feet. Extending a hand, he said, “Come on. I don’t want to miss chow.”
“Always thinking with your stomach,” Gwydion said. He groaned as he stood up. “I’m going to be so stiff tomorrow.”
“Oh, stop whining.”
The next afternoon, the people of the Caer gathered in the great hall to hear the announcement. Math sat on a gilde
d throne, dressed in a jewel encrusted robe, while Goewin still held his feet in her lap. Gwydion stood beside his uncle, stiff with both pride and the lingering pain from his bout with Gilventhy. Two bards also stood on the dais, old Talys, the bard teulu of the caer, and Kyle, a visiting ollave.
A herald called the audience to order, and Talys stepped forward, harp in hand. “As is my right as bard teulu, I hereby welcome all who hear my voice to this gathering.” He strummed a chord, and used a touch of bardic magic to make sure that everyone in the hall could hear. “I now defer to Kyle, ollave of Glencairck.”
An imposing man with thick red hair and a moustache to match, the ollave needed no assistance magical or otherwise to make himself heard. “Lords and ladies, gentlemen and gentlewomen,” he boomed. “We are gathered here this evening to hear the pronouncement of Math ap Mathonwy regarding his legal heir. Such an important decision is not made lightly, and the Lord of Caer Dathyl has spent long hours pondering his choices.”
Gwydion stifled a yawn as Kyle continued to talk, using many words to say nothing at all. He could see the audience growing restless as well, shifting about and muttering to each other in low voices. The ollave seemed oblivious, and although he had a beautiful voice, Gwydion wondered how the man had succeeded as a bard before he reached his current elevated position. Even Math seemed to be disappointed, although the boy thought it might be his imagination; the old man’s expression never changed.
Finally, the ollave drew his oration to a close. “We will now hear from Lord Dathyl,” he said, and stepped back.
The old man did not stand, but a cool breeze whispered through the hall, and all eyes riveted on his face. “My people,” he said. “I have judged among all of you, and have found my nephew to be worthy of ruling after me. Do any deny my right?”
“Nay!” shouted the people.
“Very well then,” Math said. “Although he will not be eligible to actually rule until his seventeenth birthday, I hereby proclaim Gwydion ap Don to be my heir apparent. Approach and kneel, nephew.”
Gwydion took two steps and sank to his knees. Math placed his hands on the young man’s head, closed his eyes and said, “I bless you, Gwydion ap Don, in the name of the Creator, to succeed me in ruling this people in righteousness and truth. You have the power...” He stopped for a moment, and when he continued, his voice held a note of wonder: “You have the power to save all of Glencairck. But you must learn how to use it. Be strong, and be faithful. Follow the law, and look to the druids and priests for guidance. And I pronounce these blessings upon you, sealed by the power of the Creator.”
Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) Page 1