The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (20 page)

It shredded her soul to line through his name, but it was her duty to correct the official record. Glain presented the membership register to Alwen as the Sovereign came forward to address the assembly.

“Three absent,” Glain confirmed the record in keeping with the formalities. “Two for whom we apparently cannot account.”

“Stand with Nerys,” Alwen whispered.

Glain complied, feeling unnerved. These next dozen hours could easily be even more difficult to endure than the last day had been. Now two more of their friends were missing, and Glain found herself in the unlikely position of taking on Nerys as an ally.
How Ynyr would love this
, she thought.

Alwen raised her arms in signal to the guardsmen who were stationed at the entry to close the heavy doors. Emrys and Finn were waiting at the back of the room with a retainer of ten
somber
-looking soldiers in chain mail and all armed with sword and halberd.

“Captain of the guard,” Alwen called out.

Emrys came forward, marching straight through the middle of the crowd. If any of their membership had not fully grasped the seriousness of the situation, they surely did now. Emrys presented himself to Alwen with a clipped bow and then turned to face the audience.

“Murder has been committed in our temple,” Alwen pronounced, squelching a flurry of murmurs with a wave of one hand. Her voice rang out with more strength and clarity than Glain was expecting. “The honored and noble acolyte Ynyr is dead.”

Alwen let the pronouncement hang in the silence so that the weight of it should be felt. “Twice now the security of Fane
Gramarye
has been violated. Twice now the Cythraul have entered this castle. Once in a failed attack on the king not even a week ago, and the second, which resulted in Ynyr’s demise, just this past night.”

Again a flurry of gasps and exclamations erupted, and again Alwen cut it off with a gesture. This was the first that the membership had heard of the attack on Hywel, and taken together with Ynyr’s death, it was far more frightening.

“Not even the Hellion horde ever breached the doors of the Fane,” Alwen said. Her tone had grown forceful. “Yet, somehow, the Cythraul have found their way in. They have stalked our halls and preyed upon us almost entirely unhindered.”

She spoke louder. “There are only two ways the soul-stealers could have entered our midst. Either the veil was weakened to let them through, or the Cythraul were conjured from within it by a summoning spell. Someone in this room provided the means for evil to roam these halls. By the end of this night I will know how, and I will know who.”

Silence dropped over the room like a shroud. Glain readied herself for what was coming and tried to ignore the compulsion to dig her nails into her arms to attack the infernal itching. The more serious the situation, the more uncomfortable the robe seemed to be. She felt inside her pocket to reassure herself that the parchment Alwen had given her was still safely tucked inside. Even with the spell and Alwen’s confidence in her ability, Glain was unsure.

“There are two Stewards missing,” Alwen announced. “If anyone here has knowledge of the whereabouts of the prefects Euday and Verica, speak now.”

The assembly stood as if spell-locked. If any one of them breathed, there was not the slightest sign of it. None of them responded. Glain’s worry had split between concern that Ynyr’s fate had befallen Euday and Verica, and the tiny wriggling worm of suspicion that they were somehow involved.

“As we speak, the soldiers of the Cad Nawdd are searching the grounds and the castle, room by room, stone by stone.” Alwen gestured toward the two women at her side. “And while they do their work, Glain and Nerys will inspect the integrity of the veil and do whatever must be done to ensure that our defenses are strong.”

She signaled to Glain that she and Nerys should leave, and then continued to address the rest of the assembly. “The rest of you will remain here and submit to my interrogation. If there is evil among us, it will not be for long.”

N
INETEEN

H
ywel paced endlessly, back and forth around one end of the campfire. Odwain and the two lieutenants the king most trusted provided an attentive, albeit reluctant audience for his venting. Odwain was glad for the seats they’d fashioned from two good-sized timber sections recovered from the brush, which had been set like benches on either side of the fire. Odwain sat on one, and the lieutenants on the other.

“Clydog is a fool to think he can hold Cwm Brith, even with a dark wizard backing his game.”

It was dusk on the last night they would spend in the White Woods before leaving the relative shelter of the forest for the merchants’ byway that circumnavigated the forest. Most of the men were already sleeping, but Hywel was restless and consumed with thoughts of his brother. So much so that Odwain was a bit concerned that Hywel had forgotten that their first duty was to intercept Thorvald’s caravan and warn them.

Odwain had come to admire the king, his grace and his prowess, and even his confidence. He could not help but wonder, though, how much of Hywel’s bravado resulted from the esteem others conferred upon him and how much he had garnered through his own deeds. Odwain thought of Rhys’s father, Bledig Rhi, the barbarian chieftain from whom Odwain had learned that self-assuredness was hard won and respect was earned. Hywel and Bledig were alike in a number of ways, and yet so very
different
.

“Cwm Brith sits with its back against a pair of rocky hillocks at the head of a small vale. A handful of men can defend the compound a month or more against a siege, if they are vigilant and the house well-provisioned.” Hywel spoke his thoughts aloud as he paced. “My father built that lodge to be a stronghold as much as a refuge. A direct attack will fail, no matter how many men storm the walls.”

“Then how will you take it?” Odwain wasn’t entirely sure that Hywel was inviting discussion, but decided to risk it. Odwain wanted to know how the king of the prophecy plotted his
strategies
and calculated risks against the gains and losses. Was he
reckless
, as Emrys and some others believed, or was he wise? “Your brother must have support and resources, or he’d never have dared to challenge you in the first place.”

Hywel was almost eager to answer. “The obvious line of attack is through the vale, from the south or the east, but that forces us into the open. I plan to come from the west. There is a section of forest that nearly abuts the compound, small, but thick enough to mask our movements. The woods give way to a clearing about twenty yards wide that separates the trees from the wall. After dark, two men with the proper experience could approach without catching the sentry’s notice, steal over the wall and overpower the watch, and then open the gates.”

A daring plan and against the odds, but it could succeed—with the right men. Odwain was intrigued. “Wouldn’t Clydog anticipate such a move?”

“Likely he would. He’ll have his best men on the wall.” Hywel paused momentarily to engage Odwain directly, a sly grin widening his mouth. “But we will have the advantage of surprise, and then it’s a matter of who has the superior skill. Clydog has yet to outdo me at anything, and that, I would wager, rubs him raw.”

“Were you never friends, you and Clydog?” Odwain wondered. The complexities of brotherhood still weighed heavily in his thoughts.

“Not in the least.” Hywel’s tone suggested that he regretted this truth. “There are nearly seven years between us. By the time Clydog was old enough to squire, I had spent more years in my father’s company and, admittedly, in his favor than Clydog had yet been alive. At fourteen, he was fostered at the court of our cousin in Gwynedd, and I’ve seen little of him since.”

“Resentments breed rivalries,” Odwain observed. “And now that your father is dead, there is no chance for Clydog to win his admiration. He must hate you for it.”

These insights seemed to impress Hywel, who paused again, this time to regard Odwain a little more thoughtfully. “Yes, well, he might have won
my
admiration, and his rightful share of our father’s holdings, had he bothered to come for the burial rites and hear the bequests for himself.”

“So,” Odwain said, “now you must show him the error of his ways and bring him to heel.”

Hywel snorted, half amused by the remark. “If such a thing can still be managed, though I have little hope of it. More than likely I’ll be obliged to gut my greedy brother and stake his entrails on the ramparts at Dinefwyr as a warning to any other of my kin who might be thinking to challenge me.”

“Dinefwyr?” Odwain did not know this place.

One of Hywel’s lieutenants obliged: “The seat of Seisyllwg.”

“And court of the new realm, Deheubarth,” Hywel proclaimed. “Or so it will be known, once Clydog is brought down and all of the provinces are mine.”

Hywel stopped to peer sideways at Odwain, beneath a glowering brow and shaggy locks, and then past him at his lieutenants, as if to ask what they thought. One of the lieutenants coughed in a bad attempt to hide a chuckle, and Odwain grew wary.

“I think I am glad you are with us after all, young
MacDonagh
.”
Hywel sat on the end of the log facing Odwain,
alongside
his
lieutenants
. “Perhaps you can make sense of your mistress fo
r me
.”

“Alwen?” Odwain was hesitant to speak. This line of
questioning
could take him dangerously close to betrayal. He owed his fealty to Alwen, even Cerrigwen, before Hywel. “What can I tell you that you haven’t already discovered for yourself?”

“Only one thing,” Hywel said, quite seriously. “Perhaps the most important thing of all. You’ve known her most of your life, spent nearly every day of it in her service. If anyone can speak on this it is you, so I will ask. How much do you trust her?”

Odwain was not surprised by the question itself—it was common knowledge that Hywel and Alwen had a contentious relationship—but he was skeptical that anything he had to say on the issue would have value to Hywel. Whatever might be the true motive in asking, Odwain knew enough to be careful in
answering
.

He could say many things about Alwen—he could say that she was self-righteous and demanding and that she expected as much from those around her as she did from herself. He could also say that she was the closest thing to a mother he could remember, that she had never shown him anything but kindness, and that she was more devoted to her cause and her beliefs than any
person
he’d ever met. All of that would be true. But none of it really answered the question that Hywel had asked him.

“Madoc entrusted her with the Stewardry and the
prophecy
,” Odwain countered. “I should think that would be warrant enough for anyone.”

Hywel’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze grew more intense. “I asked how much
you
trust her.”

Odwain generally preferred the simple and direct. The mental maneuvering and political ploys favored by kings and courtesans annoyed him. He thought it far more practical to just get straight to the point rather than waste time and effort trying to trick someone into saying what you want them to say. “I trust her more than anything or anyone else I know in this world. I may not always understand the reasons for what she says or does, nor do I always agree when I do, but she has never fail
ed me
.”

“So you would claim your loyalty is earned then,” Hywel
queried
. “Not just a burden of your oath?”

Hywel was deliberately leading the conversation, and Odwain was done with it.

“I follow no one blindly, not even her. Oath or no oath,” he said, looking directly at Hywel. “Prophecy or no prophecy.”

Hywel’s left eyebrow arched. “You’d make a very poor
diplomat
, MacDonagh.”

Odwain saluted the observation with a shrug and a slight jut of his chin. “Is that good, or bad?”

“I haven’t decided, but I will let you know when I do,” Hywel said, almost smiling. “I have one more question, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Alright,” Odwain stipulated, “so long as you come straight to the point this time.”

“So be it.” Hywel gestured beyond the fire ring toward where Cerrigwen lay sleeping, never breaking the steady, pointed gaze he had trained on Odwain. “If it comes to choosing between her and me, which will it be?”

This was not the question Odwain was expecting, but it was far more interesting. Pedr came to his mind, and what his brother had said about his own dilemma in the face of a difficult choice. Odwain also remembered the advice Pedr had given him.

“Well?” Hywel prodded. “Take care how you answer,
MacDonagh
. I want the truth.”

“So be it,” Odwain said, squaring himself to Hywel. He would show respect, but without compromise. Once he had believed that duty and loyalty were the same, but Odwain knew better now, and duty had already cost him far more than he’d ever meant to give. “I’m afraid that is a truth I cannot know unless I come face to face with it, Brenin.”

“But suppose you did,” Hywel insisted. “Tell me honestly. What would you do?”

“I have faith that such a choice shall never be mine to make.” Odwain met Hywel’s gaze dead on, wondering how this
relentless
, exacting man would take the naked honesty he demanded. “And so should you.”

Hywel held steady, whatever thought or feeling he had well masked beneath a façade of neutrality. But his eyes belied his calculating nature, and Odwain watched them shift from spark to shine as Hywel examined and assessed and adjudged what he had heard, until he came to a determination.

“Tomorrow, we leave the forest for the merchant’s road.” Hywel stood abruptly, as did his two lieutenants. “But tonight, we shall see how well you can fend for yourself in the White Woods.”

Before Odwain had fully made sense of what Hywel w
as saying
, his lieutenants had drawn their swords and fla
nked hi
m.

“Take a torch and whatever weapons you want. I suggest a good knife be among them,” Hywel instructed. “Otherwise, you will go as you are.”

Odwain stood slowly, so as not to show defiance or resistance, but neither was he about to submit. He widened his stance and brought his right hand to rest on the grip of his sword.

“Stand easy,” Hywel said. “They mean only to make sure you cooperate, should you be of a mind to refuse me. You
will
walk out of this camp, under your own power or theirs.”

Odwain would not stand easy. If anything he grew even more wary. It was clear enough to him that he was being put to a test, but he wanted to know why. “What do you expect this to prove?”

Hywel completely ignored his question. “A thousand paces north, straight into the woods, and then true west a thousand more before turning back. My men here will follow far enough to keep you honest. Find your way back here before dawn, or we leave you behind.”

Odwain understood the utter wickedness of the White Woods. He had not been with Rhys and the others when Alwen confronted the devilkin and struck them down, but he had been with Eirlys while their curse consumed her. He had laid her out in the meadow like a corpse on the funeral pyre and waited for the faerie folk to take her away from him. Odwain had survived that horror, and he would survive this.

The first thousand paces he could feel Hywel’s lieutenants shadowing his steps, but once he turned west, he knew he was alone. He also knew that the trail he had made on his way in was no longer there. The woods had woven a maze around him; he had heard it whispering in his wake.

The forest was so dark on a moonless night that the torch cast its light only a foot or two beyond arm’s length, barely enough to keep him from falling on his face. His legs ached already from the strain and tension of so carefully watching his step.

It didn’t occur to him to cheat on his paces until he had already gone more than half way. As he counted six hundred, some shrieking night bird flew out of the brush and startled him enough to make him consider turning back, but honor held him to the rules of the game. Only four hundred paces more.

His last step brought him to the edge of a small spring, which, were it not for the torchlight reflected on the water, he would never have seen until he stumbled right into it. A single footfall farther and his boots would be wet, and maybe the rest of him too.

Neither had he noticed the chill until he stopped walking. Winter was beginning to give way to warmer weather, but the night air still bit. These woods could be the death of a man in far too many ways.

Odwain held out the torch and turned full circle to get a sense of his surroundings. He was fairly certain he had his bearings straight, but his intuition was as skittered as his nerves. Once he was sure it was safe to move, he would move quickly.

As he turned, the light arced with him, chasing back the shadows and whatever might be hidden within them. Each time he moved, a rustle erupted just beyond the reach of his torch. His skin tingled. Something lurked in the brush not six feet from him.