The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (16 page)

It had been a glad reunion of kin long parted, despite the dire occasion, and an opportunity to celebrate Odwain’s betrothal. And then Alwen’s daughter, his beloved Eirlys was cursed and Fergus killed, and the rest of his family had disappeared without a word. It had been the worst two days of Odwain’s life.

“They assured me you’d be good as new soon enough.” He required himself to express his good wishes. “I wanted to see for myself.”

Pedr tried to pull himself up to sit but quickly abandoned the effort. “Where did they take him, our Da?”

Odwain knew, but he wasn’t happy to say. “He’s being held in the old guardhouse next to the barracks, for now.”

“And Cerrigwen?” Pedr asked, struggling a bit between distress and disgust. “Not that I much care, but the damned oath demands that I ask.”

“She is confined to her chamber until Alwen can find the sense in it all. Pedr,” Odwain continued pointedly. He was through with niceties. “I am about to ask you why you left, and you had better tell me there was nothing you could do.”

“Of course there was nothing we could do. You know that better than anyone. You’ve lived the code all your life, same as me.” Pedr’s face looked pained, but from a far deeper wound than the one to his shoulder. “The Crwn Cawr indentures us to whichever guardian we are pledged. She is our first duty, before
everything
and everyone else. Just as Alwen was yours, all those years in Norvik.”

“So Cerrigwen ordered you to follow her out of the Fane in the midst of a siege?” Odwain asked. It had to be true, but he needed to hear it said before he could put his worries to rest.

“Whatever befell the Fane, we were gone long before any of it started. That night, Cerrigwen assigned us the late watch at the rear gate, but we were to stand guard from the forest side, from outside the wall,” Pedr explained. “It was a strange request, but no stranger than anything else going on in this place. So we stood in that enchanted mist, staring at those damned woods and waiting for whatever was lurking in the trees to swallow us up. An hour later, maybe two,
Cerrigwen
appeared at the gate astride that silver mare of hers and demanded we let her out. She conjured something at the edge of the forest and then just walked straight into the trees. It’s not what either of us wanted, Odwain, but there was no choice but to go with her.”

Odwain was accepting, if not forgiving. “You did what you had to do. What I would have done had I been in your place.”

Pedr seemed relieved to have Odwain’s understanding. “We will accept the consequences, whatever they are. The MacDonagh men are men of honor.”

“Did they tell you that Madoc fell to Machreth’s dark magic?” said Odwain.

“No,” Pedr sighed, “but I figured as much when I heard they had taken Da and Cerrigwen to atone to Alwen.”

“And Fergus.” Odwain had to steady himself to get it out. He’d managed to avoid speaking of any of it until now, and it was
difficult
to allow the words to leave his lips. But he intended to be kinder than Alwen had. “He is gone too.”

The pained look returned to Pedr’s face, an offering of empathy from one brother to another. “I guess this must have been hardest on you.”

“All of us are suffering on some account.” Odwain would never have guessed how much it helped to hear his personal sorrow acknowledged. Not that he claimed himself to be more bereaved than anyone else, but he had felt profoundly alone—until now. “I am glad to have you both back at the Fane, even with things as they are. I should speak to Alwen to be sure she understands why you did what you did. She is new to the responsibilities of the Sovereign.”

“No.” Pedr took hold of Odwain’s arm. “You’ll only put your own standing at risk. Alwen knows the oath as well as any of us. Let her come to reason on her own.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Odwain did not want to admit he had any doubt, but he wasn’t as confident as he should have been. Alwen was different, more easily unsettled since the onslaught on the Fane, since Eirlys. So was he. But the woman he had seen holding audience earlier was not the woman he had known nearly all of his life.

“She will.” Pedr managed half a smile. “Have faith, little brother.”

F
IFTEEN

“S
overeign?”

Glain let herself in, carrying the meal tray she had taken from the attendant who was waiting outside the suite when she arrived, having received no answer to his knock. The receptory was empty, but the torches still burned, and the adjacent sitting room was bright and warm with the heat of the fire. Glain set the tray on a table near the divan.

The doors to Alwen’s bedchamber were closed, but the private scriptorium was open, and Glain could just make out a robed silhouette at the window. “Sovereign.”

Alwen remained unresponsive. Glain paused in the doorway that separated the scriptorium from the receptory, and then realized that Alwen was spirit-faring. Glain had found the Sovereign entranced like this many times before and had been transfixed to witness the psychic sharing of minds. It was inspiring to behold. Such elegant magic required a rare blend of innate talent and acquired skill. Alwen had both in abundance, whereas Glain had discovered she had little of either—at least when it came to this particular discipline. Alwen, however, was a natural master of the spirit-faring. It was an extension of her telepathic gifts, and Glain believed that Alwen could send her consciousness to cohabit nearly any sentient being she chose.

Glain waited quietly so as not to disrupt the sojourn or inadvertently cause Alwen an unexpected shock. A mage was vulnerable in any altered state, but especially so when her psyche was separated from her physical form. It was best to wait until Alwen returned, and then gently intrude.

Half an hour passed in silence. Glain wondered with what creature Alwen was riding. Generally, she preferred the birds, as they had the advantage of lofty vision and swiftly traveled distances, and tended to be most welcoming of her companionship. It could be most any being, though—a wolf or a rabbit, or even a merchant on the road to market.

Another quarter-hour passed, and then Glain noticed
Alwen’s
steady, even breaths grow increasingly shallow and rapid. A few moments later her body shuddered slightly, and with a sharp gasp, the stasis was broken. Alwen had returned.

“Sovereign?” Glain whispered just loud enough to be heard and waited for Alwen to react.

Alwen turned from the window and placed a hand on the nearby desk edge to steady herself. “Bledig and Aslak will soon join Thorvald. Both caravans are closer than I expected, but still several days’ ride north of here.” She took a single step forward and hesitated, as if she hadn’t the strength to go any farther. “Thorvald escorts two cloaked women and a new soldier—Ffion and Branwen, I presume, with her Cad Nawdd guardsman. But Bledig’s party contains only men.” She sighed, and even her dejection sounded exhausted. “Apparently Tanwen was not to be found.”

“How long have you been at this?” Glain was concerned. Alwen was obviously drained by the spirit-faring, but Glain wasn’t sure whether to offer her assistance.

“Longer than I intended,” Alwen admitted. “The nighthawk led to the owl, and the owl to the ferret, and then another nighthawk, and so on. But I needed to know.”

“I think you should sit.” Glain decided help was needed and bolstered Alwen with a gentle hand beneath her right elbow, guiding her to the divan in front of the hearth. “Here, by the fire.”

“Thank you.” Alwen lowered herself onto the divan with much more difficulty than it should have taken. “Some aleberry perhaps.”

Glain was already pouring. As she handed the cup over, she noticed that Alwen’s fingers trembled. “Your evening meal is on the little table next to you. It would help to eat something.”

“Later.” Alwen held the cup to her nose. She appeared to be comforted by the vapors.

“Sovereign.” Glain perched on the edge of the hearth, directly facing Alwen so that she would not have to move to meet Glain’s gaze, but neither could she easily avoid it. “What is happening?”

Alwen’s weak smile barely penetrated the layers of pain and exhaustion that seemed to have appeared overnight. Glain had not noticed any of this before, and at first she thought it might just be a trick of the light. However, the longer she looked, the more she realized that weeks of unending struggle had gradually etched the first furrows into the youthful, silky skin of Alwen’s face. And now she seemed to have aged years in a matter of a few days.

“I am being overcome.” Alwen seemed to shrivel into the stuffed and tufted back cushion. “For a while, I thought it was only the natural aftereffects—the fits of unrest and bad temper that anyone might experience having endured our recent, well,
difficulties
. But eventually, I began to wonder.”

Glain waited, out of respect, until the lull between the last statement and the next lasted a little too long, and Alwen’s presence seemed to fade. “Wondered what, Sovereign?”

Alwen’s eyes centered on Glain’s, and all trace of the weak smile slid away. “After Madoc was entombed in the Well of Tears, and the dream-speak would not come to me, my first thought was that somehow I had not swallowed enough of the waters for the enchantment to take hold. But clearly that could not be possible, considering I nearly drowned.”

Alwen held out her empty cup and continued while Glain poured again. “Then I thought I was missing something, that there was some secret bit of knowledge Madoc had forgotten to share. So, I studied his writings and searched the scriptorium for clues. I learned a great deal about a great many things, but the one answer I wanted could not be found. Finally, I was left with only one explanation. It could only be that something in me was lacking.”

“Sovereign,” Glain objected. “I hardly think that could be true—”

Alwen held up a hand to stop Glain from arguing. “It was easy for me to think it, though I do know better. Even then I was beginning to sense what was happening, though it was weeks before I could see the proof.”

“What?” Glain was on tenterhooks. “Proof of what?”

Alwen sat forward and pulled back the cuff of her right robe sleeve as she held out her arm. “See for yourself. It’s been worse since the Cythraul violated the Fane.”

The blackening that had taken over Alwen’s fingers when she had tried to save Madoc from the freezing well waters had spread to the outer edge of her palm and was creeping up her arm. Glain was horrified. “Why didn’t you say something before this?”

“I cannot afford to show even the slightest weakness.” Alwen withdrew her hand and returned to cradling her cup in both palms, as though nothing at all were the matter. “No one else is to hear of this, Glain. The only reason I am telling you now is that I am no longer able to keep the effects from showing. As I’m sure you have already seen.”

Glain tried to return Alwen’s attempt at levity with a smile, but the effort yielded little better than a nervous twitch at the corner of her mouth. Glain was worried. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call for a physician?”

“I am sure,” Alwen insisted, but the effort seemed to pain her.

Glain stifled her concern and focused on what she could do to help. “What do we do now?”

“Well…” Alwen let herself collapse back into the cushion. “We will proceed as you proposed. I am in no condition now to hold another audience, so you will assist me by drafting a decree, which you will then enforce on my behalf. The mage hunter will continue his pursuit, with Rhys to help him. Hywel will carry a warning to the Protectorate escort, secure the safety of
Cerrigwen’s
daughter and whichever of the remaining guardians have been found, and then he will engage Clydog, as he must. Cerrigwen will go with him, but send Odwain as her personal guard. He is all that is left of the Crwn Cawr here, at least alive and able and fit for such a duty.”

“What will become of Odwain’s father and his brother?” Glain went to the desk in the scriptorium and returned with quill and parchment. “What judgment will you pronounce on them?”

“Pedr, I believe, has suffered quite enough. Neither he nor Finn has committed any crime against the Order. If anything, I would have to say they have more than fulfilled the intent of the oath.” Alwen was apologetic. “And I suppose it could be said that Finn paid any due he might have owed by enduring that audience the way he did. If there was an offense, it was a violation of military regulation. For all intents, he abandoned his post. Leave it to Emrys to impose whatever penalty is required by the law of the Cad Nawdd—or not, as he sees fit.”

Glain nodded, furiously jotting notes and prioritizing her missives. She was profoundly relieved to finally have some understanding and a course of action to follow. And though she was prepared to defend her own behavior, Glain was grateful that Alwen seemed to have decided not to address it.

“That should take care of the matters brought before me today and by all means set it all in motion as quickly as
possible
,” Alwen said. “But see that Hywel leaves enough of his men behind that the work clearing the path to the well continues.”

“So that is why you agreed to the excavation.” A sudden realization brought Glain to a pause. “You think curing the curse on the Well of Tears will cure the curse on you.”

“And free Madoc’s knowledge,” Alwen said. “In the three months that I have been his proxy, many nights I have dreamt, and many times those dreams have brought me omens, but never once have I heard the dream-speak. There are times when I sense Madoc and the other spirits attempting to speak to me in my sleep, but it’s as if they are speaking a language I do not know. Not so surprising, I suppose. The gift of the dream-speak was never meant to be mine. Perhaps I will never be able to master it.”

Glain knew how much Alwen had hoped the wisdom Madoc had promised would come to her, and that she considered it her failing that it had not. “The murky well water might be to blame for this as well, you know.”

“You may be right,” Alwen said. “Even if you are not, it might not matter. We have three of the four keys, and soon we will have Branwen with us, and her amulet. Perhaps, as you suggested, Ffion can be persuaded to take her mother’s place in the circle. Then we need only fill Tanwen’s seat somehow. But you,” Alwen pointed a shaky index finger in her direction, “
you
must find that missing scroll.”

Glain nodded, masking a momentary twinge of old guilt. “We must also keep you strong, Sovereign. What more can be done?”

Alwen sighed as though she had tasted something
unpleasant
. “When you have finished the decree, and before Hywel can take her, figure a way to bring Cerrigwen to me here. Tonight. Quietly, though. No one can know.”

Glain waited outside the doors to Alwen’s chambers as though
she we
re one of the Cad Nawdd sentries standing guard. In
effect
, she
was
standing guard, though she was desperately hoping no one would come along. If Alwen meant to keep her private
meeting
with Cerrigwen a secret, she would have to hurry.
Already
nearly half an hour had passed, and Glain was beginning to worry she’d never have Cerrigwen back in her room before the guard she had relieved returned. Or worse, before Ynyr or Ariane or one of the prefects decided to retire for the night.

She dared not interrupt, though impatience tempted her to knock. Her nerves were only slightly less jangled than her thoughts. Once she had finished with Cerrigwen, her next task would be to deliver Alwen’s directive to Emrys. She had wanted to take the news straight to Rhys, but it was proper that the captain of the Cad Nawdd issue orders to his soldiers and grant custody of Cerrigwen to Hywel. But once she had informed Emrys, she would give Thorne Edwall his leave to depart, and this would be the last chance she would have to see Rhys again.

Finally, she heard movement near the doors and the latch clack as it opened. Cerrigwen stepped into the hallway and acquiesced to Glain with a slight bow of her head.

Glain pulled the door closed and gestured down the west annex hallway. “Were you able to help her?”

Though she was no longer bound by the mage tether,
Cerrigwen
walked with her hands clasped in front of her and kept her face fixed straight ahead. She did not respond, and Glain wasn’t sure whether she’d been heard or if Cerrigwen simply did not want to answer. Either way, the next two dozen paces were spent in uncomfortable silence.

Just before they reached the entry to Cerrigwen’s quarters, she came to an abrupt stop and turned to confront Glain. “You are a very foolish girl.”

Glain was stunned, and a little piqued. “I—I beg your
pardon
?”

“You fail to see the most obvious signs.” Cerrigwen cocked her head and peered at her more closely, as though she couldn’t believe what she saw. “Remarkable, really, considering how much time and effort you spend trying to make sense of them.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Glain said, trying to be polite.

Cerrigwen’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you don’t.”

The cryptic retort was unnerving. Perhaps the woman really had lost her mind. Glain started to move past her and open the door, hoping to put an end to the exchange, but Cerrigwen stopped her with a hand on her arm.