The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (30 page)

“I still have our sister here.” Clydog wrested Ffion to her feet and sidled to his left, as though he intended to move toward the door. The four men who were meant to protect him backed away, distancing themselves from Clydog. He would have no help from them. “Machreth wants her more than he wants you dead. If I leave here alive, so does she, at least for now. But if I die, she dies first.”

“The only way you will leave this lodge alive is under my guard.” Hywel edged around the end of the table to the right, blocking his brother’s escape on the near side. Cerrigwen waited on the other. “You have another choice, brother.”

“What choice?” Clydog was tilting dangerously toward panic. He held Ffion so that she shielded him from her mother and worked at something knotted on his belt, but Hywel couldn’t see what it was. “I will kill her if I must, Hywel. Don’t pretend her life means nothing to you.”

“Of course her life matters to me, as does yours,” Hywel said, surprised by his own sincerity. He had begun to understand
Clydog
for the lost boy he was. Their father had failed him, and that could never be redressed now that Cadell was dead. But perhaps Hywel might make up for some of it. “We are all family here.”

“Family?” Clydog squeaked out a wild, unhinged laugh. “We are no better than hungry dogs, you and I, trying to kill each other off to get at the table scraps.” He tossed his chin toward Cerrigwen. “
That
witch was just one of many mistresses, and her daughter here is nothing more than spilt seed our father forgot to wipe up when he was done.”

“Ffion is more than that, and you know it.” Cerrigwen was losing her patience, and her temper. “Cadell let her live because she tied him to the Stewardry as much as Hywel. You will not harm her because she does the same for you.”

Hywel could see Cerrigwen tensing from the corner of his eye. She worried him, but so did Clydog. He had something clutched in his right hand, and his blade was pressed too deep into the flesh of Ffion’s throat. It had already drawn blood, and she was afraid.

“Stand away Hywel, you and your men,” Clydog demanded. “Let me pass.”

Hywel had almost forgotten Odwain and the others. They had taken a stand behind Hywel and Cerrigwen, at the doorway. Cerrigwen would strike soon, and Hywel would not be able to stop her. Nor did he think he should. They could not let Clydog leave with Ffion.

“Lay down your blade, Clydog. Let Ffion go, and submit to me.” Hywel made one last appeal. “I will spare your life and even offer you terms. We
are
brothers.”

“You let none of your enemies live,” Clydog snarled. “You are just like Cadell. You’ll spare me now only to have me killed later.”

“I cannot forgive what you have done, but neither can I
forget
that you are also a son of Cadell.” Hywel took great care with his words and his tone. He could not stop thinking about how Glain had interpreted her dream of the two stags, and he wanted
Clydog
to believe him. “If you will submit to me now, I will make you my vassal. I swear it. You will have your life and the land and title you deserve.”

“Why should I trust you?” Clydog challenged, still convinced that he had a chance to escape.

Hywel stared him down. “You have no other choice, but death.”

Cerrigwen stepped toward Clydog, her hands held out and open, as if in conciliation. “I will free you from the curse and Hywel will let you leave, just as you asked. Take Ffion with you as guarantee, if you must, and free her once you feel safe.”

What was Cerrigwen doing? Hywel glared at her, angered. She had no right to speak for him, and he had no intention of
letting
Clydog leave, with or without Ffion. And then Hywel
realized
neither did she. She meant to draw his attention long enough for Hywel to pull Ffion away.

“Only loosen your grip on that blade a little,” she said, inching closer still. Her tone was calm but stern. “You’re hurting her.”

“All right then.” Clydog backed into the corner, still shielding himself from Cerrigwen with Ffion’s body. But he did ease up so that the blade was no longer cutting into her skin. “Undo your blood curse, sorceress, and tell Hywel to stand aside.”

Cerrigwen waved Hywel off, and he backed toward the entry just enough to give Clydog reason to believe he would comply. Then Cerrigwen drew in her hands, closed her eyes, and began a quiet chant in a whisper too low for Hywel to hear. The thought struck him that he had no way to know whether she were actually removing one hex or calling another. The same thought must have occurred to Clydog, because he panicked.

In a sudden frenzy, Clydog booted Ffion to the floor and hurled whatever he had been holding in his right hand at
Cerrigwen
. It was dark and loosely formed, like a clump of damp soot. The clump struck Cerrigwen in the face and exploded in a cloud of black silt, momentarily stunning her. Clydog leapt over Ffion and charged Hywel as if he intended to barrel over him to get to the door, now clutching the knife in his stronger right hand.

Hywel reacted on instinct and a little anger, standing with his left shoulder forward so that he could take the blow and still throw his strong arm. He was taller and heavier than his younger brother, who turned out to be smart enough not to make a direct charge. Instead, Clydog attempted to make a glancing pass on the right side, but Hywel stiff-armed him across the chest and threw him off his feet. The block laid Clydog flat out on his back, winded.

“That was too easy.” Hywel bent over, twisted the knife from his brother’s grip, and drew his sword. “Get on your feet, you
cowering
whelp. Stand up to me like the man you should be.”

Odwain had already pushed past them to help Ffion, but she threw him off, scrambling to her feet shrieking. Cerrigwen was still on the ground where she’d fallen.

“Odwain!” Hywel took hold of Clydog’s tunic and yanked him up, tempted to throw a punch for good measure. “Is
Cerrigwen
all right?”

When there was no immediate response but Ffion’s weepy mumbling, Hywel turned on Clydog. “What did you do?”

Clydog was staring past him, to where the others were crowded around Cerrigwen. “I—I don’t know. Machreth said it would stop her.”

Hywel had shown all the benevolence he had in him. He shoved Clydog back against the wall, pinning him across the throat with his left forearm and raising the knife he had taken to place the tip between his brother’s eyes. “Is there no end to your stupidity? Why would you use any weapon without first knowing what it was or what it would do?”

He dragged Clydog across the floor to where Cerrigwen lay. He was so exasperated, he was no longer sure why he hadn’t already killed his brother. Ffion was on her knees, with her
mother’s
head in her lap, and Odwain stood helplessly by.
Cerrigwen
was not moving.

Ffion looked up at him, her face filled with shocked rage and streaked with tears and blood. “He’s
killed
her.”

Hywel felt sick. Not only had Clydog killed a Guardian of the Realms, he had used Machreth’s black magic to do it. Alwen would rightly demand vengeance—and worse, Clydog had now earned an extra measure of Ffion’s hatred. How could Hywel
justify
sparing him now? If it weren’t for Glain’s damnable dream, he wouldn’t even be contemplating it. Because of her, Hywel now felt compelled by the fates to find a compassionate resolution for them all. Unfortunately, he hadn’t one.

Just then Bledig and the rest of the men barged through the front door, coming to see what had happened. They were quick to take Clydog’s four remaining men into custody and then stood by with the others. Hywel shoved Clydog at Odwain and bent to offer Ffion his hand. To his surprise, she accepted his gesture and allowed him to help her up.

Hywel was uncertain how to proceed. He did not know this sorceress, this sister to whom he now found himself inescapably indebted. Worse, he had neither reason nor right to expect her allegiance, or even her benevolence. He wondered if Ffion knew that her mother’s death had changed her fate and what that meant. Hywel knew, and it worried him.

Ffion faced him, unexpectedly stoic and composed. “Have my mother’s remains prepared. We will return her body to the Stewardry, where she belongs.”

“Of course.” Hywel waved at the men gathered in the doorway, but as two of them moved to comply, he reconsidered. “
Perhaps
you’d like to take a moment alone with her, first.”

“No.” The anguish he had seen before was no longer evident, but there was anger in her voice. “The sooner we leave this place, the better.”

Ffion turned and moved toward Clydog, which made Hywel nervous. He followed but did not block her path. She was entitled to face down the man who had taken her mother’s life, even to take his fate into her own hands.

“What would you have me do with him?” he asked, half dreading her answer. It would be difficult to deny her blood, if that were what she wanted. In the end, keeping her favor was far more important than protecting his brother. Glain’s dream be damned, he decided. Hywel had done all he was willing to do for Clydog.

Ffion stared long and hard at Clydog, but whatever she was thinking or feeling was well hidden. Too well hidden for Clydog’s liking—Hywel could see his brother’s lower lip tremble.

At long last, she dragged her heavy-lidded glare from
Clydog’s
face and turned it on Hywel. “You have already promised him
his life
.”

“If he conceded,” Hywel reminded her, “which he did not. He was never going to leave this room alive otherwise.”

Ffion nodded slowly and sidled her gaze back to Clydog. “Nevertheless, that was what you wanted, is it not?”

Hywel was almost as surprised by his own answer as he was the question. “Yes.”

“Then so be it,” she said flatly, looking up at Hywel again. “I will leave his fate to you, on one condition.”

Hywel nodded and waited for her to continue.

“My mother’s one wish for me was that my father would acknowledge my existence.” Ffion was firm and self-possessed, as though she had always known of her sire, which Hywel was fairly certain she had not. “She sacrificed everything to claim my birthright for me and to protect me against those who wanted to use me to gain it for themselves or to kill me to keep me from having it. Which of these are you, Hywel?”

“Neither,” he said earnestly, feeling surprisingly humbled. It was a truthful answer, but he did not expect her to believe it. “Ne
it
her.”

She arched one eyebrow, obviously skeptical. “Then I imagine a king who is willing to forgive a brother he hardly knows for plotting against him would also be willing to acknowledge a sister he never knew—especially if she also bears one of the keys to his destiny.”

So she did know. Hywel felt a new admiration for Ffion. “I imagine he would, especially a sister who so well understands the value of her alliances.”

She almost smiled. “We are of a kind, I suppose.”

“No,” Hywel said. “We are kin.”

T
WENTY-
N
INE

G
lain had led Nerys by the nose for two days, continuing a search for something that had already been found. It was unconscionable, she knew, but Glain was not yet ready to reveal herself. Still, she could not continue to say nothing for much longer. Alwen was worsening.

Nerys now knew how ill Alwen had become, and between the two of them they had managed to keep rumors from rising. The membership was nervous enough without worrying that their leader was weak. Though hers was still the final ruling, Alwen had essentially been forced to abdicate the throne, leaving Glain to attend to all that she could.

During the time that the duties of Sovereign had been secretly hers, Glain had managed fairly well, considering how ill equipped she was. However, Emrys had become difficult these past few days, challenging Finn’s authority at every turn. Alwen had refused to speak to him since the interrogations the night Euday was captured and Verica disappeared, and Emrys was taking his demotion hard. Several times in the last two days he had sought Glain out, begging for Alwen’s audience. The more she tried to dissuade him, the more distraught he became.

“She will not see you,” Glain insisted, standing her ground firmly in the foyer, though more and more curious to know what was plaguing him. “I think it would be best if you could just make peace with yourself for now.”

Emrys looked at her with defeat in his eyes. He was
disheveled
and looked as though he had aged a decade overnight. “There can be no peace for me, not until Alwen hears me out.”

“I am so sorry, Emrys,” she said, honestly, “but there is
nothing
I can do.”

“I think there is,” Emrys snapped, turning suddenly hostile. “I think there is plenty you can do.”

Glain was confused and unnerved. She was beginning to think he’d gone a little insane. “I am afraid I don’t know what you mean, Emrys.”

“I gave you back your scroll,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I made sure it came to you. You owe me something for that.”

“What?” Glain was stunned. Emrys made no sense. “
You
put the scroll in my room?”

“What you do with it is your business,” he rasped, trying to keep his voice low. “That scroll is your burden to bear, but how I came to have it is mine. You must let me speak to Alwen.”

Before Glain could gather words to respond, Finn charged through the door with Aslak on his heel.

“Gods grace us all!” she exclaimed. Glain felt as though she had been delivered from the jaws of a hungry serpent. “You’ve returned at last, and not a moment too soon.”

As she spoke, Glain realized that Finn was ashen and Aslak, harried and unkempt. “What is it?”

“We’ve come straight from the saddle,” he said. “I must see Alwen, right away.”

It was only then that she saw the wounded soldier standing behind Aslak and the small woman beside him. They were all of them road weary, but there were others who should be with them and were not. The news Aslak brought could not be good, and whatever confessions were burning within Emrys would need to come out. It was useless to hide anything anymore. The time had come to let the fates have their way.

“Come with me,” she decided, indicating to Emrys that he should come too. “But you should know: Alwen is not well.”

She led the group to the third floor and stood, uneasy, before the doors to the Sovereign’s chambers. The sentry saluted his returning captain. Aslak’s homecoming was a glad thing for them all—even Emrys, Glain imagined.

“Wait here,” she said, hoping to give Alwen a little time to prepare. “I will announce you.”

Glain pushed in on one side of the double doors and closed it quickly behind her. To her astonishment, Alwen was already robed and waiting in the Sovereign’s throne. Nerys stood nearby, ready and waiting to intercede should Alwen need her help.

“How did you know?” Glain asked.

“A little bird showed me,” Alwen said with a smile, attempting a light-hearted reference to her spirit-faring abilities. “I went out on a limb this morning and then floated away on a breeze.”

Glain was bemused, but also concerned. It was unlike Alwen to be so whimsical. “Are you alright, Sovereign?”

“Less and less every day,” Alwen said, still smiling. “But I won’t need to be for much longer.”

This was the closest Alwen had come to admitting how frail she was becoming. Glain was so guilt-ridden, she could hardly speak. “There is something I should say before the others come in.”

“Go on,” Alwen said, expectant but calm.

“The last scroll,” Glain admitted at last, “Madoc’s testament. It has been found.”

Alwen’s left eyebrow arched. It was all the reaction she let show. “Where?”

“In my room, two days ago.” Glain avoided looking at either Nerys or Alwen. “I have just learned that it was Emrys who put it there for me to find.”

“Emrys?” Alwen was aghast.

“That is all I know,” Glain said, finally reaching behind her to
pull the scroll from her sash, where she’d tucked it for
safekeeping
.
She held it out to Alwen. “I think you have already guessed what it says.”

“I will hear you say it aloud, Glain.” Alwen was stern, but not angry. She accepted the scroll and cradled it in her lap. “For your sake, as much as mine.”

Glain swallowed her fears and regrets and summoned her pride. “I am Glain, daughter of Alric and Brigid, granddaughter of Saoirse, grandniece of Madoc, and the last mageborn descendant of the Primideach bloodline.”

She took a deep breath and let the rest out. “I am the one true heir to the Stewardry at Fane Gramarye.”

Nerys let out a small sigh, which was a far more restrained
reaction than Glain expected. She waited dutifully for the reproach
to come, for Alwen’s disappointment and frustration. But Alwen seemed only relieved.

“At last,” she said. “We’ll speak more on this later, but now go let Aslak in before he loses his patience and breaks through the door.”

Glain did as she was asked and waited for Aslak and the
others
to gather in the receptory, before joining Nerys at
Alwen’s side
. Alwen stood to greet Aslak and even embraced him. Glain had not seen her express such affection since Bledig had left.

“It’s the aleberry,” Nerys whispered. “I believe she’s taken too much.”

Glain wanted to giggle. It was a silly thought, but it could well be true. She decided to be watchful, just in case, while she listened to Aslak’s horrible account.

Aslak and Bledig had joined forces weeks before and failed to find any trace of Tanwen. On their way to rejoin Thorvald’s
caravan
on the road home, they’d met Hywel’s cadre, who were waiting with word that Ffion had been abducted and that
Thorvald
had been killed attempting to save her from the
Hellion
raiders
. Goram, Aslak’s eldest son, had been badly wounded. It was decided that Bledig would lend his sword to Hywel’s
campaign
, and Aslak would see Goram and the sorceress in his care sa
fely ho
me.

“This sorceress”—Alwen indicated the small woman with a tip of her chin—“she is your charge, Goram?”

“Yes,” Goram said, stepping forward. His face was bruised and battered, and there was an obvious gore wound to his side that had to be causing him pain. It was clearly a struggle to stay upright, but he did. His lanky limbs made him look even taller than his brother, and his coloring was not as fair. But just like Thorvald, Goram had Aslak’s strong jaw, broad brow, and remarkable strength. “I bring you Raven, daughter of Branwen of Pwll.”

Alwen leaned forward as though she were trying to get a closer look. “Come forward then and be recognized as a child of the guild.”

“I come to claim my mother’s legacy,” Raven announced.

“Then your mother has passed on,” Alwen acknowledged. “How did she meet her end?”

“She became ill late in the last harvest season. There was nothing to be done but to watch her fade away.” Raven paused to take in a full breath, as if to bolster her courage in order to continue. “She did not linger long.”

“You are very brave to have journeyed so far to take on such a burden.” Alwen took a moment to regard the young sorceress more carefully. “Your devotion honors her memory. As do your looks, child. But for your youth, you could pass as her twin.”

Raven almost smiled. “Her bloodline runs strong in my veins.”

“Which is why you are here,” Alwen said. “Tell me, Raven. Do you know who I am?”

“Alwen, High Sorceress and guardian of the Spiritual Realm and leader of the Circle of Sages.” Raven recited the titles as though she had worked hard to memorize them.

“Yes,” said Alwen, fingering the amulet at her throat. “For the time being, I am also Sovereign of the Stewardry at Fane
Gramarye
. It is that title that requires me to be certain that you are who you say you are. Show me your proof, Raven, daughter of Branwen.”

“The pendant burns in your presence.” Raven pulled a silver chain over her head, and with it, her mother’s talisman. She held the necklace out to Alwen. “I bear the moonstone, the Key to the Celestial Realm.”

Alwen took the pendant into her hands and turned it
backside
-up to examine the casing, just as she had the bloodstone amulet Nerys now wore. Hidden in the engraved embellishments was the wizard signet, etched into the silver by Madoc himself. This mark testified that the amulet and its owner were true.

“The power of the amulets grows stronger in each other’s company.” Alwen glanced at Nerys, as though her words were meant for them both. “The heat is called the quickening. The key will reveal itself in this way only to its true owner.”

If Nerys were sharing the experience, she hid it well. Glain watched from the corner of her eye, feeling her old suspicions rise, until Nerys made a subtle move to reposition the pendant.

Alwen returned the moonstone to Raven. “Never again let this leave your person. Not unless I and I alone command you to do so.”

Raven rehung the pendant around her neck. “Am I now a sorceress of the Stewardry?”

“As your mother entrusted you with her secrets, I presume she also entrusted you with her knowledge,” Alwen said. “You are trained, are you not?”

“I know the traditional arts of your guild. My father’s people are known as the Norse. They have their own magic, which was also taught to me.”

Alwen was pleased. “What of your inborn gifts? Are you an oracle like your mother?”

Raven clasped her hands in front of her. “I can read the moon and the stars, and capture their light in the scrying stone, but my foresight is not always clear.”

“You need time and practice, but you are indeed a sorceress of the Stewardry.” Alwen signaled Nerys to bring the guard from the hall. “You may take your leave now. I hope you will feel welcome among us. The sentry will show you to your mother’s rooms and find a healer to make Goram more comfortable.”

Alwen waited for the sentry to escort the newcomers out and then straightened herself again as she faced those still remaining in the room. She had the scroll in her hands, and Glain felt her knees weaken. “There is just one more piece of business I shall conduct as Sovereign.”

Glain started to object, but Alwen waved her off.

“I hold here Madoc’s last testament.” Alwen raised the scroll for all to see. “There will come a time to officiate this properly, but I am too tired and too ill to fuss over protocol now. I enlist all of you as my witnesses. If any of you object, leave now.”

Glain could not believe what she was hearing. She half expected someone to walk out or argue. Alwen waited a full
minute
, and then continued.

“This testament names Glain as Madoc’s heir. I doubt this surprises any of you, but it was important that we have this proof of his intent. As of this moment, I relinquish my standing as Madoc’s proxy in favor of her birthright, and thereby proclaim Glain the true and rightful Sovereign of Fane Gramarye. From now forward I assume my own rightful place, as leader of the Stewards’ Council. The time to join the guardians and the power of the keys to the realms is coming, and I must prepare.”

Aslak was the only one among them brave enough to voice what they all were thinking. “Are you strong enough, Alwen?”

“Oh, I know it looks doubtful,” she agreed, “but I have reason to believe that the joining ritual itself shall be my salvation. You’ll just have to trust me, old friend.”

Aslak smiled at her with genuine fondness. “And I suppose I’ll just have to trust that you know where to find another
guardian o
r two.”

Alwen laughed. “As it happens, Aslak, we are overrun with guardians. Fortunately, Nerys is of Tanwen’s bloodline, and I have no doubt that Ffion will be returned to us safe and sound. With Raven and me, the circle will be complete. And just this morning it was reported that Hywel’s soldiers have finally opened the cave that contains the Well of Tears.”

“And so the prophecy will be fulfilled after all,” Aslak said.

“So it would seem.” Alwen pulled herself out of her throne and turned to Glain. “This is yours now.”

Emrys shoved past Finn, who had been doing his best to keep Emrys contained. “Sovereign, a moment’s grace, I beg you.”

Aslak stepped between them. “Stand back, Emrys. You should not even be here.”

“It was she who let me in.” Emrys gestured wildly at Glain. “I ask only to be heard.”

Finn, who had not said a single word, spoke directly to Alwen. “We’ll deal with Emrys, in our own way.”

“No,” Alwen said, staring quizzically at Emrys. “If it is my judgment he wants, let it be so. If Glain will allow it, of course.”

Glain thought the entire scene bizarre, but no more bizarre than Emrys having been in possession of the scroll in the first
place. “There are questions that only he can answer, and if he wishes to
unburden himself, I think we should hear him out.”

Aslak stepped aside and Emrys stumbled forward, falling to his knees at Alwen’s feet. “I have failed you.”