The Forsaken Throne, page 18
part #6 of Kingfountain Series
It felt as if her eyes had only been closed for a fraction of a moment when Fallon started yelling. She came awake with a start, her heart suddenly in her throat, her hand groping for a sword.
Fallon was standing, brushing himself off by the Leering. It was almost dawn, and the woods were gray but still bright enough for her to see the panicked look on his face. Huge spiders skittered away from him as he brushed them off.
She sat up abruptly, only then realizing the spiders were all over her too. They were in her lap, crawling up her tunic front, on her arms and legs.
The groan of fear and disgust that came from her throat was not ladylike at all as she jumped to her feet and started stomping and dancing, anything to get them off. Fallon soon rushed over to her, swatting them away from her clothes. There was nothing romantic at all in the way he fondled her. She saw little red bites on his chin and cheek and it made her nearly scream to think of spiders crawling over their faces while they slept.
In a few minutes, the huge spiders had all dispersed and the two of them leaned over, hands on their knees, breathing hard and trying not to laugh at each other.
“I want to go home,” Trynne moaned, shaking her head and shuddering with terrors.
Fallon nodded, still overwrought by the episode. “I’ve not seen that before,” he said, laughing nervously. “Your face, Trynne.”
“What?”
“Did they bite me too?” He touched one of the spots on his chin. “It hurts! Summon the water again. Please.”
She thought that was a great idea. With a thought, the Leering flared to life again, the water gushing from its mouth. Fallon stood aside for her to go first, so she knelt by the Leering, pressing her hand against the stone to steady herself, and cupped her other hand to gather water.
Before she drank her first mouthful, something strange happened. A window opened in her mind, as forcefully as if shutters had slammed open. She saw, in her mind, a man kneeling by another water Leering. Intuitively, she knew she was seeing something happening somewhere else, at that very time. The man was also touching the boulder, and he became aware of her the same instant she was aware of him.
They both looked up.
And she saw her father’s face for the first time since he’d disappeared.
The king’s army has reached Averanche. Westmarch offered no resistance. They were too confused by the conflicting tidings to do anything other than join forces with their king. Averanche is a formidable castle, and it will not be easily taken. They can be supported by sea.
But Averanche is not the goal. I’ve persuaded the king to pretend to siege this fortress and draw Captain Staeli’s army toward us. But I have an errand to attend to first in the grove in Brythonica. They cannot be allowed to return.
Morwenna Argentine
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Fountain
Trynne would have recognized her father’s face anywhere, but the many months he had been away from home had changed him. The distinctive patch of white in his hair had been joined by some gray at his temples. He was weather-beaten and sunburned and had a new scar across his brow. Seeing him brought a visceral rush of emotions—longing and sadness and exquisite joy.
He was clad in rough soldier’s garb, the dirty tunic of a knight from a different realm. The sigil on his chest was not that of Comoros, and the fabric was a dark red, the color of wine, with a black fringe. A sword was buckled to his waist, a dagger too, and his boots and pants were soiled with the mire of the wilderness. A chain hood was pulled down around his neck, revealing a mottled beard that was untamed and rugged.
Her fingers tightened against the stone as if she could claw her way through the rock to reach him. The Leerings linked them together. She felt a series of Leerings like a trail that connected the land between them. He was to the east and a little south.
She was about to speak, to call out to him, but his eyes locked on hers. He abruptly removed his hand from the stone and the connection between them snapped.
The pain of the separation was physical. Trynne clutched at her chest, feeling tears sting her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Fallon asked, wiping his mouth. He stared at her face in confusion.
Her throat was so thick, she could not speak. Awash in emotion, she struggled to breathe. She’d seen her father’s face. He was alive, that very moment, at another Leering. There was no look of recognition in his eyes when he saw her, but how could there be? What had he seen but a disheveled, spider-bitten stranger?
“I saw him,” she gasped, panting, trembling.
“Who?” Fallon came around and dropped to one knee beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“My father,” she whispered, gazing into his face. She wasn’t sure whether to smile or sob.
Fallon’s eyes lit up with joy at the news. “Where is he?” he asked her fiercely.
She grazed her palm across the stone. “This one is connected to other Leerings. There’s a chain of them. I saw them in my mind. He may be a day or two away from here, but I clearly saw him. He was in the wild, like we are. I saw him, Fallon!”
He pulled her into a hug and they savored the moment of discovery together. Her cheek pressed against his neck and she squeezed him hard, feeling gratitude swell inside her heart.
Fallon broke away first, but he kept his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “It’s worth all the horrors of Dahomey if we can reach him. I’m not weary anymore.” He rose to his feet and then held out his hand to help her up. She accepted his help, nodding energetically. The morning intrusion by the spiders was now forgotten.
As they walked through the dense forest, Trynne wondered what she would say to her father when they met again. He wouldn’t remember her, although part of her was desperate to believe that he would. No, he would likely be distrustful at first, but she would find a way to earn his faith. Even if he didn’t believe her, she would use the Tay al-Ard to bring them all back to the ruins of Muirwood.
They had to get back to Ploemeur. The urgency of that thought squeezed her very bones. It made her determined to keep up with Fallon’s long stride.
The forest was thick and decaying. The trees gave off a foul stench and the underbrush was thick with scurrying rodents and snakes. They had quickly learned to march with sword in hand. The serpents shied away for the most part, but some hissed in challenge and barred the way.
She felt her power dripping away—the result of her instinctively using her Fountain magic to sense for dangers. But it was worth it if they could avoid deadly snakebites.
They stopped for food after finding another Leering and getting fresh water from it. There was no vision this time, but she could still sense the location of the next one. They checked the position of the Wizr board and saw the pieces were arrayed differently. The black queen had moved one square closer. Other pieces were moving in from the north side of the board, beginning to converge on the corner where Dieyre and her father were nestled.
The armies would clash within days.
The road kept them going east, but it was not well tended and they had seen no other travelers.
Sleeping in Dahomey, if you could call the fitful slumber that, wore away at them. It had become impossible to travel at night, for the road was heavily shrouded and was nearly invisible, and they dared not risk traveling by the light of torches. One remained awake while the other slept, but their bone-deep weariness forced them to change guard every few hours as best they could manage. They skulked in the woods and slept uncomfortably.
The next morning, they awoke to find they’d been attacked by another silent enemy. Scores of ticks had crawled inside their clothes and attached to their bodies to suck their blood. When the light revealed the infestation, they again marveled at the inhospitable woods.
“Nasty little beasts,” Fallon said in annoyance, squeezing one between his fingernails and plucking it out. “We’d best remove them all now before moving on. We’ll be sore all over if we don’t.”
They finished their ablutions separately before continuing down the overgrown trail hardly wide enough for a cart. During the journey, they spoke sporadically, both trying to preserve their strength while keeping a relentless pace. They spoke of their childhood in Ploemeur, of shared memories, and of the antics they’d engaged in as children—all of it utterly foreign to their current circumstances. Fallon had always resented missing out on their parents’ adventures under the despotic rule of King Severn, but he admitted that their own struggles had thoroughly altered his views on the matter.
They planned to stop and rest once they reached the next Leering, but they had not come upon it yet and the day was fading fast. They trudged on silently. Trynne found herself wondering where they were on the board. How many squares had they crossed already? She wasn’t sure how vast Dahomey was. The terrain was rugged and the constant marching up and down the hills had grown tiresome.
As dusk began to drain away the sparse light, she sensed Fountain magic ahead in the distance. She hastened her steps and touched Fallon’s arm.
“Ahead,” she warned in a low voice.
He slowed down, turning to gaze at her worriedly. “What is it? A Leering? I only hear some annoying jackdaws.”
“I sense a Leering, but also Fountain magic coming from a person,” she answered, and he nodded in understanding. Both already had their swords at the ready. As they proceeded, Trynne continued to sense the presence of several Leerings. These were active ones, radiating a form of magic in a circular area. She grew more cautious, but she didn’t let it slow her down.
A thickening, roiling mist hung over the trees ahead of them.
“Fog?” Fallon said curiously, his brow wrinkling. “Reminds me of Guilme.”
“Only this fog isn’t natural,” Trynne said, growing more alarmed. She reached out with her magic, probing for danger, and felt a dark force hidden in the layers of the mist. Pouring out more magic, she found a cave hidden within a series of huge boulders. A creature—no, a hulking monster—waited inside. It had one weakness. Sunlight.
It was nearly nightfall.
“Fallon—” she started to say in warning, but before she could explain, she felt another Leering flare to life. The other Fountain-blessed person was just ahead, closer than the monster. This presence she felt was definitely human.
Fallon stopped, held up his hand. “I hear water running,” he whispered.
She heard it too. A water Leering, then.
The mist grew thicker. Seeing ahead through the trees became impossible.
“There is someone just ahead of us,” Trynne said. “And there is also a beast in the woods. I don’t know what it is, but it is dangerous.”
“I don’t like this,” Fallon said, shaking his head. “Could it be your father?”
Trynne nodded. “He saw me at the Leering. Maybe he came to meet me.”
“But this is your father we’re talking about,” Fallon said, wrinkling his brow. “He doesn’t know that we’re friendly. This feels an awful lot like one of his traps.”
“Yes, it does,” she agreed. “If it is him, shouldn’t we let him capture us? I have the Tay al-Ard. I can get us away quickly.”
“That’s true, and he doesn’t know that.” He looked anxious. “It’s getting darker by the moment. Let’s spring the trap and get ready to fly if something goes wrong.”
“Agreed,” Trynne said.
They walked hesitantly forward, senses alert to every sound. The mist seemed to muffle the noise, but Trynne heard the pattering sound of water flowing from the Leering ahead of them. Its two burning red eyes penetrated the mist. They slowed their approach, trying to be as soundless as possible. Fallon gazed back and forth, his mouth in a frown.
Trynne pulled the Tay al-Ard out of her belt, holding it in her left hand. The mist was so thick, it blinded them to the rest of the road, but she noticed the trees had been cut down around the Leering. There were dead trees everywhere, sawn down by man. The air was heavy with the pungent smell of rot. There were smaller Leerings arranged throughout the woods in a larger circle, and she sensed they were summoning the mist. But the water Leering was the most powerful one.
“I don’t like this place,” Fallon whispered. His body was as taut as a bowstring.
The Leering’s eyes were livid with fire, exposing its face. This one was carved to look like a woman. A grim-faced woman with a haughty look and a stern expression. There was something huddled before the Leering. At first, Trynne thought it was a stone, so she startled when it straightened to a man’s height. This was the person she’d sensed. He was wearing a wine-colored tunic, but a cowl concealed his hair. The person was Fountain-blessed. Trynne could sense the magic radiating off him.
Continuing forward, her stomach roiling with concern and hope, she started closing the distance between them. Fallon kept close to her, enough that she could reach out and touch him if they needed to use the Tay al-Ard. The cloaked figure turned and she saw her father’s face beneath the hood.
She nearly gasped in relief—Fallon did—but something wasn’t right. The man looked like her father. But the next instant she sensed the magic, sensed the disguise.
“Who are you?” Trynne challenged, reaching out with her magic.
“Who do you think I am?” came a reply in her father’s voice. Trynne sensed the presence of other men, soldiers, slinking through the trees, coming around them in a wide circle. None of them had drawn a weapon, but they were closing in on them like a net.
“I know you are not Owen Kiskaddon,” Trynne said, trying to tame the anger in her throat.
“And you answer me in the language of Kingfountain!” said the man. “Did you notice I switched? Only someone from that world would know the speech. Thank the Fountain!”
“Who are you?” Trynne demanded angrily, gritting her teeth. She stared at him, half-seen through the glare of the Leering’s burning eyes.
“My name is Esquivel,” he answered with a light chuckle, almost giddy. “They call me Quivel here. King Dieyre wishes to see you both. Will you come with me?”
“Do we have a choice?” Fallon asked, looking from side to side at the shadowy forms of the soldiers emerging from the gloom. He edged next to Trynne, his boot touching hers.
Esquivel held up his hand and Trynne saw the black beetle-shaped ring on his finger. The Tay al-Ard wrenched from her hand and flew into the man’s outstretched palm. He caught it deftly.
“Actually,” Esquivel said in a cunning tone, “no.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Quivel
Quivel chuckled to himself as he saw their immediate consternation. “You’re both gifted with weapons, no doubt. You could choose to stay here in the woods. You could try and kill some of these soldiers—they’re quite good—but if you survived, it wouldn’t do you much good. A very wicked and frightening monster that hunts this blighted land would make a meal of you. Nasty business, that. I, for one, would prefer using this”—he wagged the Tay al-Ard—“to bring some of us back to the king’s camp tonight and discuss things further over a succulent roast boar smothered in honey and treacle glaze. I believe that was what I saw roasting on the spit.” He scratched his neck, and the illusion dissolved. Tattoos sprouted up from the skin he was scratching, entwined in patterns that reached all the way up his face.
“You’re one of the Dochte Mandar,” Trynne said, her mind working furiously.
“And you are also Fountain-blessed,” he replied, gazing at her pointedly. “No use denying it. We can sense each other. Come now, put the blades down. Let’s be civilized, unlike these barbarians who cannot understand a word we’re saying. They only know Dahomeyjan. If you prefer a long, bloody battle, go ahead,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll use this Tay al-Ard to come back later after they’ve subdued you.”
Trynne wrestled with indecision. The soldiers were closing in like a net. Between her and Fallon, they might succeed. But it would drain Trynne’s magic. She could ill afford to lose all her reserves.
Threat and mate.
“Not interested?” Quivel asked. “Very well. Have it your way.” His true face had finally been revealed in full. He had a long nose and a set of bushy eyebrows, which he lifted with expectation.
Fallon let his sword fall to the ground and it hit the marsh grass with a heavy thump.
Trynne sheathed her blade in its scabbard.
Quivel smiled. “A good choice. Come, sir. Sheathe your weapon. Let’s not leave it behind. Swordsmanship is highly prized where we’re going and you both look capable.” He motioned with encouragement for Fallon to retrieve his sword and sheathe it, which he did.
“There. Let me see. If I bring the two of you, plus me, and maybe four others, that should drain the Tay al-Ard enough for it to be thoroughly unusable until morning.” He wagged his eyebrows. “I do know how these work, after all. Clever invention. And some cuffs for your wrists. That will give me more assurance.” He turned to one of the soldiers and uttered the command in his language. Trynne understood what he was saying—tie up the prisoners—and felt a pang of gratitude for her mother, who’d encouraged her study of the words of power. Xenoglossia had been vital for both her and Fallon on this voyage.
Quivel waited as both Trynne and Fallon’s wrists were bound behind them with chains and cuffs. The soldiers, all dressed in the wine-red tunics fringed with black, fell in all around them. They were hardened men, each bearing scab marks on their faces, and some afflicted with oozing sores. Fallon’s jaw was clenched and his eyes blazed with fury, never veering from the Dochte Mandar.
“Wait here for my return,” Quivel told the remainder of the soldiers after choosing four to accompany them. “The Leerings will protect you from the Fear Liath so long as you stay near this one. If you leave the grove, you will die. Is that plain enough? Good men. Now, let us be going.”
Trynne gazed at the Tay al-Ard, her soul in turmoil. It had been stripped away from them so easily . . .
