The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (21 page)

Odwain drew his knife and widened his stance to better balance himself. He stilled his movements and slowed his breathing to bring himself as close to dead calm as he could. Sound and smell were more useful to him now than his sight.

Several moments passed before he heard the rustle again. It came from behind and seemed to be moving south, away from him. Odwain turned toward the sound slowly so as not to provoke anything else that might be hunkered within striking
distance
.

His ears began to sort the ambient sounds of the forest itself from the transient disruptions made by the creatures dwelling within it. The gurgling spring and the cold night air brushing through the evergreen boughs settled into the background. In the foreground he heard the soft scamper of rodents and other nocturnal beasties, punctuated by the occasional snap and crunch of something slightly more formidable moving about.

Odwain sensed nothing particularly threatening, or even remarkable for that matter—except for the odor. At first it was barely distinguishable from the aromas of forest duff and pine trees adrift in the wind, but he felt an uncomfortable twinge every time his nose caught a curl of it. He knew well the scent of fr
esh k
ill.

A stronger whiff reached him, and his senses recoiled. This was not the inviting tang of warm blood and raw meat ripe for skinning. Odwain smelled the reek of human flesh, carried past him as the breeze traveled from northeast to southwest.

He started into the trees, instinctively following the scent toward its source. It was closer than he’d expected. Not even a furlong farther, he broke through the trees and found himself standing knee-high in wild grass and scrub alongside a narrow but well-trod horse path.

This was not the trade road Hywel was headed toward, but even in the near-dark Odwain was certain this path would eventually intersect it. The stench of death was strong here.

He stood on the path and held up the torch so that the light would catch on both sides. A snort and the familiar sound of hooves shifting in the brush drew his attention. On the other side of the trail, a stout Frisian mare waited. The mare was saddled, and standing over something heaped on the ground.

Odwain’s gut chucked over in dread, but he crossed the trail anyway. The horse whinnied and tossed her head, but she didn’t shy away when he came near. He took the torch in his left hand and reached out to her with his right.

“Easy now, girl. Let’s just have a look.”

He took the reins and eased her back, lowering his torch to see what lay beneath her. Cloak cloth, plain brown woolen that was soaked through with blood, and good boots. He recognized the make of the boot. Every soldier of the Cad Nawdd was issued a pair.

The body had landed face down in the brush. Odwain let go of the reins and staked his torch in the ground, so he could roll the man over. He readied himself for what he imagined the worst scenario might be, but he was nowhere near prepared for what he found.

“Thorvald,” Odwain whispered, heartsick and a little
terrified
. The warrior’s eyes were wide open, staring stark-wide, and his face was a bloodless white, but it was the gaping, sinewy hole where his chest had been that turned Odwain’s veins to ice. “How could this be?”

But he already knew. Odwain had seen firsthand the
carnage
the Hellion rampage had wreaked upon Fane Gramarye. He had witnessed the slaughter of his men—his friends—and been powerless to stop it. Those few who had survived were scarred in body and mind. It still ached where the fangs of their flesh-eating beasts had torn pieces out of his right side.

Odwain pulled fast to his feet, quickly calculating the most likely circumstances and their probable outcomes. When he left, Thorvald had had three men under his command and
Cerrigwen’s
daughter in his charge. On his return he would also have brought with him his brother and Branwen, third Guardian of the Realms. Where one soldier had fallen, so surely had others. And if
Thorvald
was dead, were the sorceresses as well?

Of all the horrible outcomes that Odwain could envision, this was the worst, though it was not necessarily a fate foregone. There could be survivors. Choosing hope over doubt, he began a quick search through the grass and underbrush near the trees for signs of life.

Working by torchlight was tedious and slow, and required that he come much too close to the bodies in order to see whom he’d found. By the time he had discovered two more piles of remains, he realized the odds of coming upon a survivor were small. If there were any to find, he would need daylight, and help. It was then that he remembered the reason he was in the woods in the first place. He had to reach to Hywel’s camp by dawn, and he had only a vague idea where it was.

Odwain borrowed the Frisian mare and headed back into the forest on little more than memory. He was reasonably certain that his natural sense of direction had kept his bearings straight, but the torch was spent. That left only his faith in his instincts.

T
WENTY

B
y the time Alwen had dismissed the assembly and the search of the Fane had begun, the sun was already
setting
. It took more than an hour just to walk a quarter of the perimeter in the dark, another two to follow the stone walls to the midway mark. Even with a half-dozen torches, there were recesses in the walls or overgrowth where the shadows were so thick nothing short of the noon sun on a summer’s day could penetrate. It was these patches that unnerved them all the most, but so far they had found nothing unusual.

Emrys had sent six of his best men with Glain and Nerys, men known for their courage and skill. They had all fought the
Hellion
and survived, which gave Glain confidence that they could
confront
anything. And there was no telling what they might find themselves facing this night.

The compound and its lands had been ravaged by the
Hellion
onslaught, but so had the Cad Nawdd. More than half the
regiment
had perished, most of them trying to keep the horde from
overrunning
the main gates, and the rest in the open between the gates and the castle.

“These are sacred grounds,” Nerys said, so softly she might well have been speaking to herself. “There should be a monument to the sacrifices made here.”

It was a generous and reverent thought, and Glain made note of it. Though the bodies had been burned, the earth held the blood of brave men who had died so horribly in defense of the Stewardry. Their suffering haunted these places, but evil was not hiding here.

“Perhaps when all this madness is passed,” Glain agreed. “
Perhaps
then we shall honor all who are lost to us, in the
proper wa
y.”

It was too dark to see if Nerys was moved by what she had said, but Glain imagined she appreciated the intent. If Nerys were feeling half the sorrow Glain felt, she knew more misery than she deserved.

“The rear gate next,” she instructed. “And then the orchard.”

Aside from the orchard, where the White Woods had overgrown weak spots in the wall, it was the rear gate that was the most vulnerable to ingress. Though a sentry was posted day and night, it opened into the forest. If wickedness were to find its way to the Fane, it was very likely to first seek its way through here.

The sentry greeted them and then stood aside so that the officers in their escort could inspect the integrity of the stiles. Nerys took a torch from one of the guards and used the light to get a sense of the surroundings and look for anything out of the ordinary near the wall.

“It is eerie, so near the woods,” Glain commented, scratching absently at her arms. “But if the Cythraul were here, their scent has been washed away by the wind.”

“I sense nothing at all,” said Nerys, still scouring the
hedgerows
and wild brush. She straightened abruptly and spun around. “
Nothing
.”

A moment passed before Glain realized what Nerys was
saying
. They both should have been able to feel the subtle
harmonic
vibrations that emanated from the enchanted mist that veiled Fane Gramarye. Glain had noticed the sensation repeatedly as they had circled the compound along the retaining wall, but not here. This was the evidence for which they were hunting.

“We will need to know how far the breach stretches,” Glain said, retracing their approach along the wall. A few dozen steps back she found where the seam had been opened. “I can feel the veil begin to thin here.”

She posted one of the soldiers where she was sure the veil was still strong and then began to walk ahead, past the gate, toward the orchard. Nerys was close on her heels, with two of the
guardsman
right behind. Glain counted nearly a thousand paces before she noticed the warm hum of the veil’s magic return.

“Here,” she said, pointing to the spot where the nothingness ended. “Mark this place so that we can find it again.”

“Before we attempt to reweave the veil spell, we should find the source of the disruption and destroy it,” Nerys suggested. “Else our efforts may fail.”

Glain agreed. There was little doubt that the persons she had seen emerge from the orchard two nights before had been working magic against them. Anger made her skin crawl beneath the itch of the camlet robe. “I believe we shall find what we seek in the apple grove.”

The orchard, with its twisted, spindly-limbed trees was in some ways more eerie than the White Woods, especially at night. The remnants of old magic and the echoes of past blessings lingered at ritual sites like this. There were two sacred places on the grounds of the Fane. The most powerful was an ancient oak tree that stood a few hundred yards farther, on the other side of the faerie meadow. This orchard was the second.

Though densely grown, the apple grove was small
and familiar.
Within it was a single stone altar, a common place for
seasonal
blessings and worship that rested at the base of the First
One, th
e original tree that had been the founding source of t
he orchard. Even in the dark, an
y Steward could easily find his or her way to it.

“Do you see that?” Nerys stopped her with a hand to her arm. “There, huddled by the tree.”

They were still too far off to make out much beyond shadows, but Glain could see a dark bulky form that looked to her like a sack of potatoes leaned against the trunk. She waved the two guardsmen forward and beckoned for a torch.

Light in hand, Glain led the way, edging closer to the ritual tree and the suspicious object beneath it. Even from a distance it was clear the altar had recently been used. Glain could feel the resonance of spell work.

“I smell a blood offering and burnt tallow,” Nerys said, her tone tense with anger and dismay. “The magic is fresh.”

Nerys started ahead as if she meant to confront the altar, and the sack of potatoes at the base of the tree wriggled as if it ho
ped t
o retreat but had nowhere to go. Glain grabbed hold of Nerys
by t
he folds of her cloak to keep her back while the two guardsmen rushed forward.

“Who is it?” Glain demanded, gesturing for the guardsmen to intercede. “Who is there?”

When the only response was a violent wriggle, one of the soldiers gave the shadowy bundle a good poke with the pointed finial of his halberd. The muffled cry that burst forth suddenly brought the sack of potatoes to life, and Glain recognized the shape of a human form wrapped in cloak and hood. A torch shoved close revealed a familiar face in the throes of torment. Euday was bound tight, and muzzled by a hideous magic Glain knew but had never seen. His mouth was sewn shut with enchanted twine, and the harder he tried to pull against the seam, the tighter the stitches cinched and tore at his flesh. It was a vicious hex and
very effec
tive.

Her first thought was to free him, but that impulse was quashed quickly by the recent lessons so hard learned. Glain had more than enough reason to be suspicious. And she had no way to know how or why Euday had come to be in the grove, though she would need to find out.

“I say we banish the muzzling but leave him bound,” Nerys suggested, “just to be safe.”

It was a good idea. Glain stepped closer and bent forward to look into Euday’s eyes. He turned away but not before she saw the guilty terror, and in that instant Glain knew beyond any doubt that she had been betrayed. Fury overcame her in a flash of re
d he
at.

“Yes, Euday,” she whispered, shaking with rage. “You should fear me.”

Glain stepped back and spoke aloud. “I will dispel the hex so that you can speak, and then you will tell me what you know. But be warned, old friend. The first lie that leaves your lips will set them ablaze, and I will gladly watch you burn.”

Tears spilled onto Euday’s cheeks and glistened in the torchlight, but Glain was unmoved. She reached out with the fingertips of her right hand pursed together in a pincer-like fashion and made a plucking motion as she spoke the command to undo the hex. “
Dadwnud.
”

Euday let out a whimper and wet himself. The stench gave him away, and still Glain felt no pity. She could have chosen a less painful way to release him from the stitching twine, but part of her wanted his suffering. Dark magic would come so easily, if she let it. But it was not vengeance she was after—not yet.

Glain turned her attention to the altar and the herbs, animal bones, and tallow drippings that were evidence of a powerful
conjure
. “What is this, Euday?”

“It holds the veil open, but only for a few days at a time,” he confessed through sobs and bloody spittle. “The spell needs
tending
, like a fire.”

Nerys stooped and swiped the altar clean with the back of her hand, muttering a blessing under her breath.

“Is that what you were doing here?” Glain asked him. “
Tending
your spell?”

He struggled against the binds, trying to sit up, and failed. “We meet here every third night.”

“Who,” she demanded. “Who meets here?”

“Verica and Ynyr and I,” Euday blubbered. “It takes the three of us to work the spell. But then Ynyr went missing, and when we couldn’t find him, Verica and I agreed to meet tonight as we had planned. We thought he would be here.”

“Ynyr?” Glain could not believe what she was hearing. “What are you saying?”

“It was him all along. He had Machreth’s instructions. Ynyr called the Cythraul against Hywel,” Euday pleaded. “We only did as we were told.”

“Ynyr is dead,” Nerys interceded, her tone flat and
unfeeling
.

“What?” Euday was horrified. “
Ynyr
is dead?”

“Victim to his own spell it would seem, sometime last night.” Nerys moved closer to Euday, as if to menace him further.

“Th—the Cythraul?” Euday sputtered. “That cannot be.”

“Oh, but it is.” Nerys bent close and snatched a fistful of Euday’s hair, yanking his head back so that he had no choice but to look at her. “Surely he did not intend to set the wraiths upon himself, so who, Euday? Who did Ynyr mean to kill?

“Ah—I—,” Euday faltered, “I cannot say.”

Nerys yanked harder. “Cannot, or will not?”

Still Euday resisted. He set his jaw and summoned defiance. “I
will
not.”

Nerys bent close. “Then I will rip out your tongue and feed it to the vermin while you watch.”

Her quiet menace had a devastating effect. Realizing at last that Nerys had no mercy for him, Euday’s resistance collapsed. He shuddered as desperation took hold.

“The Cythraul were meant for Alwen,” Euday blurted. “Ynyr hoped to avenge Machreth’s defeat.”

“And gain favor with his new lord,” Nerys surmised. She glanced at Glain to gauge her reaction, or perhaps for instruction. But Glain was so staggered by what she was hearing that all she could do was shake her head in disbelief.

Nerys let go of Euday’s hair and crouched in front of him, seizing him again by the collar of his robe. “Where is Verica?”

Euday shook his head violently. “She never came.”

“You fool.” Nerys shoved him away as she stood. “Just how do you suppose you ended up trussed and muzzled?”

“Wait.” Glain’s head was spinning. “Nerys, how can you believe any of this? Ynyr had nothing to do with this. He cou
ldn’t have.”

Nerys was angry, but also pained. “I wasn’t sure until that scroll was found in my room. Ynyr is the only person who could have put it there.”

“What?” Glain fell to her knees. She wanted to retch.

“I’ve always known that he was more sympathetic to the reformers than he ever let show, but I never worried about his loyalties, not really. After the insurrection, though, he became more and more secretive, and when I pressed him, he was so offended, I felt guilty for asking. Then one night, just a few weeks ago, I caught him sneaking into the Fane very late. He was clearly up to something he didn’t want known, and I never asked him to explain. I didn’t want to know the answer. Things were never the same after that.”

“How is this happening?” Glain could barely speak.

Nerys let out a disheartened huff. “Perhaps I should have come to you, but would you have heard anything said against him, especially from me? And what was there to tell?”

Glain gaped at Nerys, gutted.

“When the scroll was discovered,” Nerys went on, “I knew it had to be him. The betrayal broke my heart. Ynyr could defend me earnestly without risk to himself, knowing full well that I would be found guilty no matter what he said. You would never believe me innocent, and he counted on that.”

Glain was stunned beyond comprehension. She had been stupid and na
ï
ve, and here Nerys was speaking to her with all the respect and understanding that she herself had never been shown. It was unbearable.

Nerys frowned and stepped closer, her head tilted to one side as though she were intrigued. “Your robe,” she wondered, “how is it shimmering?”

“What do you mean?” Glain looked down at herself and scratched at her arms again, wondering what it was that Nerys was seeing.

Nerys gasped and stepped back, drawing her wand from her sash. With a flourish aimed straight at Glain, she shouted. “
Ym
ddatod
!
”

Glain was horrified, confused. Before she could make sense of what was happening, the black camlet robe dissolved into a wriggling swath of tiny, shiny-eyed spiders. Thousands upon thousands of the hideous creatures crawled over her in their frenzied escape. They fled like fleas from a drowning dog, into the underbrush, where they disappeared into nothingness.

“Great Gods!” she shrieked.

“Are you all right?” Nerys was shaken, but still in control of her faculties. She reached out a hand to help Glain up. “How did you come by that robe?”

Glain had already realized how the black camlet robe had used her. “It was left behind in Machreth’s wardrobe.”