Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (42 page)

Her gaze shot from side to side, as though she read words on parchment. “Gift?”

“Yes, I have seen several visions. One of you and the Lady Rhiannon in a stone house‌—”

“Connor, I did not bestow upon you any form of sight. That kind of magick is beyond my skills.”

“Then how‌—?”

“The felltithe is a powerful curse; the most powerful of which I have knowledge. In order to create such a terrible entity, the Féinmhuinín poured all of their malice into its creation, as I have told you before. When there is that much hatred, it cannot be contained. The felltithe took on a life of its own, and an unforeseen side effect of the Féinmhuinín’s poison was born. Alongside the tremendous pain and suffering it imparts, it also grants to its victim some of the powers the Féinmhuinín possess.”

“So my visions were because of the curse.” Connor shuffled his feet, kicking up a clod of dirt. “Tell me, are there other effects?”

“If there are, I could not tell you. I have no knowledge of it beyond what I have already told you. But now is a time for celebration. Banish these thoughts from your mind and I shall show you where you will be sleeping. You must be exhausted, and you should not tire yourself out so.”

“I am exhausted,” he admitted, still bewildered by actually having reached Arlais.

He followed her to the priests’ quarters. The deeper he delved into Arlais, the fewer people he saw. It seemed most of those who gathered for the festival stayed near the tent village.

Connor smiled when she pulled the flap back on the door to his abode and motioned for him to enter.

“Another visitor?” asked a voice from inside.

“Yes, Sawyl, this is Connor.”

“This one’s Hume like me!” The boy hopped off the bed. “Not like that other strange one.”

“Strange one?” Connor said. “Does he speak of Gawain? Has he arrived?”

Ceridwen nodded.

“Already off, he is.” The boy bounced around, eyeing Connor carefully. “Off to the western edge of the forest.”

“That is enough, Sawyl. Connor is tired. There are freshly baked sweet pasties in the clearing. If you hurry, you may be able to receive one.”

Before Ceridwen had finished speaking, the boy scurried out the door.

“Gawain was here? Why did he leave? We planned to meet one another here in Arlais.”

“He did not wish to leave without seeing you, but he had no choice.”

“No choice?”

“Gawain was chosen by the Goddess to be her champion.”

Connor shook his head in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“The Lady Rhiannon herself has given him a mission to gather allies for the coming war. He travels north to the Gabraëth Mountains to enlist help from the Duamor king, Gorbran Ivatholl.”

“War…”

“I am afraid it approaches far more quickly than even I foresaw.”

“What will happen?”

“I fear Annwyd will make the first strike. They have used the Féinmhuinín attack on the night of the clansmeet to draw supporters in both Annwyd and Cærwyn.”

“Had I not been injured, this never would have happened,” Connor yelled, far louder than he intended.

“You must not blame yourself. Annwyd has wanted to expand their territory for some time. They have merely found their excuse.”

“If they wish to mine the Brynlands, they will clear the forest. What will happen to Arlais?”

“That burden now falls upon Gawain. Should he fail, Arlais will fall and our people will be scattered.”

“By the Goddess.”

“Connor, the sword he gave you.” Ceridwen motioned to his pack.

“What of it?”

“Do you know the symbolism of starmetal?”

“Is that what it is made of?” Connor removed the sword, once again admiring the deep black blade and its gold veins.

“To give one starmetal symbolizes a unification of two souls.”

Connor looked up at her, impressed.

“Gawain felt so strongly of the bond between the two of you that he chose to give you this gift.”

“When we first met, I felt as though we had known one another, perhaps in many lives before.”

“He shared similar sentiments of you when I spoke to him of it.”

“Did he?”

“Connor, all things change in time. Some changes come slowly over many years, while other changes come swiftly like the swipe of the sharpest blade. I believe the two of you have a great deal to do with the shaping of the future of Dweömer.”

“Ceridwen, we are but two people.”

“Even the smallest acorn growing beneath a wall can cause a mighty fortress to crumble.”

Madoc crossed his leg and grabbed hold of his foot, cracking his tight ankle through his boot. He watched Tristram shuffle through papers stuffed into the bookcases which lined the walls of the steward’s quarters. Taking a deep breath, he held back a cough, feeling the tickle of smoky air from the crackling fire across from him.

“Where are they?” He crossed his arms, slamming his foot back to the floor.

“They should arrive momentarily, my prince.” Tristram let out an audible sigh, but Madoc ignored the old man’s consternation.

“They bloody well be.” He sunk back into the chair, letting his elbows rest on the arms. “How long have they kept me waiting?”

Before Tristram could answer, a knock came at the door.

Madoc immediately stood. “Enter!”

The door opened and Senator Grigor Boraste entered, Senator Cuhlwch Valifor followed a few paces behind.

“Senators, welcome,” said Tristram, stepping forward.

Madoc let him handle the pleasantries. Trying to make himself look intimidating and worthy of his station, he stood with back straight and arms crossed. Despite his fervor to look the part of a future king, he felt his stomach quiver as Senator Boraste’s heavy boots clunked against the floor, making way for Senator Valifor.

The great mountain of a man stood looming before him, and Madoc’s throat tightened. Unlike the senators of the mainland, Boraste and Valifor’s houses retained some of the savage tendencies left over from the kings of old. The thick cloak of oiled pelts he wore over his senator robe reflected this fact. Boraste would have looked no different in Madoc’s eyes had the senator walked into the room garbed in pelts and a bearskin cloak.

Tristram motioned to the table in front of the fire. The four men sat in uneasy silence, exchanging glances.

Madoc could feel his stomach churn with anticipation. He was unarmed, so he immediately took notice of the swords attached to their baldrics.