Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (17 page)

The chilled breeze of autumn brushed against Ceridwen’s cheek as they crossed the border of Cærwyn into the plains, dried grass crunching beneath the horses’ hooves. At their hastened pace, it took a mere three days to reach the border.

The dusk had already set in. Far in the distance, she could see the Hwerydh Forest, a dark green line against the horizon. If they rode throughout the night, they would reach Arlais by morning. But as she looked around at her weary escorts, she doubted they would arrive before midday.

It had been some time since she required escorts. Priestesses were forbidden to travel alone. She would have to adjust to the formality once again, just as she had when she took her vows at Arlais. She smiled as she thought of her younger self, starry-eyed and fascinated with the world around her. It was during the final year of the Iachewch Age,
the healing age
, that she decided to take vows at Arlais. Quite a bit older than others who dedicated themselves to the Goddess. Most maidens joined just after their courses came upon them, as her younger sister had.

Nearly three hundred winters had come and gone since that time, and she had quite a different demeanor. It was, certainly, from witnessing the battles of the Blaidd Age, which dulled her and cemented her sensibilities, as Rhiannon once noted. A foundation in war was why she so easily, and so genuinely, took to Connor and Rhodri. She had lost her parents as well, in a Hume raid on her village.

It had been Rhiannon who shielded her from the war, when she appointed Ceridwen as one of her attendants, despite protests from Cairbre that involved her young age. As the Lady, however, Rhiannon had the final word on the matter. Cairbre had softened to her over the years, as he recognized how dedicated she was to Rhiannon. While they had clashed at times in the past, she did like Cairbre for all intents and purposes. He was kind to her, albeit set in his ways.

Realizing the futility of the war, Rhiannon gathered her council together to discuss the options which were laid before them. Not wanting the dwindling numbers of Arlais’ followers to be completely wiped out, she ordered the militia to call off their assault while sending word to the head of the Hume warriors, High King Alric I, to discuss the terms of Arlais’ surrender. It was a treaty signed in steel and written in the blood of her people. The only provision allowed to them was the ability to continue to practice the Old Ways. All other terms Rhiannon demanded were ignored. In truth, it was in the best interest of both parties for the war to halt. A strange illness struck the Humes, and their numbers decreased more and more as time went on.

In the coming years, the Hwerydh forest was left alone, for the most part. Ceridwen assumed the Humes were too frightened to come within the actual boundaries of the forest. Nevertheless, Hume soldiers occupied several outposts along the river, as well as the most prominent, the Vega Outpost on the edge of the Brynlands. Arlais remained surrounded.

As they rode closer to Arlais, Ceridwen found herself perplexed for not feeling any anger at the situations into which they were all thrown. She did not know if she was numb to it from years of exposure, or if she had transcended the need to feel anger. She resolved herself to ignore the feeling for the moment. Her chafed thighs from riding on a rough saddle presented a far more convincing argument for annoyance.

She laughed to herself at the thought: transcended. She still thought of herself as a child at times, hardly a priestess of such rank. Yet, such time had passed since she took her vows that she could not imagine her life unfolding in any other way.

“My Lady?” Rhys’ voice called her back from her recollections and she saw that night had fallen; the moon was high in the sky. “My Lady, should we set up camp for the night?”

“No, we ride on. We will be in the forest soon and by morning’s first light at Arlais.”

It was no time to stop, especially not in the plains where there was no cover, only patches of dirt and dry grass. There were rumors of slavers from the south in the area. They normally did not travel this far north, or east, but it was not entirely unheard of. Slave traders from Niseport could sell Meïnir slaves for a far higher price than their Hume captives based solely on the assertion that pleasure received from sexual contact with the Meïnir was far superior to those of Humes. They took the slaves far south, across Fawrion Aig,
the Great Ocean
, and sold them to the hedonistic nobles of Ordanis.

She dare not let her escorts know she was frightened. They looked to her for guidance, and any hint of doubt she may have could spook the lot of them. As she pushed her fears to the back of her mind, she found that she was able to ignore them, and took comfort in the amount of escorts Rhiannon had provided. And, as she thought about it, Rhiannon would have sent only the best for her.

“My Lady, look!” Rhys pointed to a line of flickering lights in the distance. They approached her party‌—‌fast.

Ceridwen immediately recognized the torches of raiders, slaver scouts, and they drew closer by the minute.

“Quickly!” Ceridwen thrust her heels into the horse and sped off, her escorts following.

She knew they were outnumbered. Their small party would soon be overtaken if she did not think of a way out of the situation.

“You five go that way,” she called to Rhys.

“Split our party?”

“Go now!”

Ceridwen took four of the others with her and peeled off from the group. She would not see the raiders win‌—‌not again.

Amdiffynei sat at the edge of the forest to the east of Arlais, near the Bay of Dagrau. She could still recall the smell of the burning huts around her. She had gone to her secret spot between a large boulder and the bay to collect the round, water-polished stones she was fond of as a child. After she gathered several particularly nice stones in her basket, and realized she had been gone for most of the day, she hurried home. As she walked along the path to her village, she encountered a deluge of rain and she ran under the trees for cover. But as she entered the forest, an unfamiliar stench surrounded her. She raced toward her village, the acrid scent becoming stronger.

When she reached her home, she dropped her basket of stones. The village had become a mass of smoking kindling and charred bodies. Her vision grew blurry as she stumbled toward the remnants of her hut. She pushed aside the burning log that obstructed the door, ignoring the pain as it seared her palm. As the smoke cleared, she saw her mother slumped over the hearth, the cooking pot overturned on the floor in front of her. Ceridwen coughed the smoke from her lungs and rolled her mother over, finding herself unable to muster a scream as she looked upon her charred face.

She fell back, unable to breathe. An odd sensation, that she still could not describe to this day, came over her. She lay on the floor, staring up at the sky through a hole in the roof. Her eyes glazed over and she felt herself drift away, as though a warm tide carried her out to sea.

She looked down at her body, lying there on the floor of what was once her home. Suddenly, she felt a hand pull her back into her body. A brilliant light filled her vision, and she saw a woman, engulfed in the white light. She looked familiar to Ceridwen, but she could not recall from where.

“Is she one of the Atynedig?” asked a male voice from far off.

“No, she is not.” The woman stared into Ceridwen’s eyes. “Feel the warmth of my hand. My grasp will hold you to this reality, child. Do not depart into the next world.”

Ceridwen took comfort in the woman’s voice.

“Now stand,” she said, helping her up. “Feel the ground beneath your feet and know that you are here.”

Ceridwen felt the words throughout her body, and she steadied herself, the woman’s hands still holding her. The woman wore the blue robes of a priestess. Ceridwen finally recognized her: Rhiannon, the Lady of Arlais.

“Are there any other survivors?” Rhiannon turned back to the man, whom Ceridwen would come to know as the High Priest Cairbre.

“It would seem it is only she.”

“Her sister’s visions were correct then.” Rhiannon placed her arm around Ceridwen and enveloped her in her robes.

Rhiannon and Cairbre had traveled to the bay with a large party from Arlais after rumors reached the forest of strange Humes approaching Dweömer from the south. Humes were not unfamiliar to Dweömer, as the first to arrive had been Hume practitioners at Arlais for several generations. A small tribe, who called themselves the Dicadah, arrived on its eastern shores to escape some unnamed oppressor not long after Blodueyn, Rhiannon’s predecessor, founded the temple.

Ceridwen found herself, admittedly, unfamiliar with the story, but thought it extraordinary the Dicadah managed to navigate the Bæðweg Glæs, the
Sea of Glass
, as it was said to be impossible.

These new Humes, they were different. They ravaged the land as they mined the edge of the Brynlands and stripped the earth bare. The harsh smell of industry swept over the forest, and Rhiannon could hear its cry. The Duamor mined the mountains for centuries, constructing their cities and their castle at Eurig. The Duamor only mined to further their own territory and for the betterment of their people, but the Humes carved away at the land to ship their profits to Ordanis.

Rhiannon had been concerned for some time, so, at the insistence of Ceridwen’s sister, Rhiannon traveled with her party to Amdiffynei in order to investigate.

It was not long after the attack that Meïnir villages started to disappear from the countryside and the Dicadah villages not long after. The residents moved to the other side of Hwerydh forest to the safety of the conclave between the forest and the Brynlands. Over the entirety of the Blaidd Age, Hume invaders destroyed the land around Ceridwen. The small, unorganized militias they formed were no match for the strong warriors and their weapons of steel. The last battle of the war occurred two hundred forty years after her village was slaughtered.

As they raced toward the distant forest, Ceridwen felt her heart pound in her chest. Her priestess training took over, and she felt overwhelmed with concern for the welfare of her companions. Ceridwen knew they would not be able to outrun their pursuers, and she pulled on the reins of her horse. Dust flew up around them as the hooves skidded to a halt. She knew that the only weapon at her disposal was the slavers’ own ignorance.

“Stay behind me.”

“But‌—”

“Do as I say!” Ceridwen commanded. “Hand me your lantern, quickly now.”

Her escorts rallied their horses behind her.

“Goddess, if there was ever a time I needed your assistance, it would be such a time as this. Fill me with your strength.”

The men circled the group. Their eyes burned like fire set in their red faces, illuminated by the torches they carried.

The glint of weaponry caught Ceridwen’s eye, and she felt her blood boil. Out of rage or fear, she did not know. She glared at the man who drew his sword.

“Stop!” Her voice echoed around them. “You Humes speak of the witchcraft we practice in the forests. You whisper of the dæmons we conjure in the dark of night and the curses we utter.”

The color drained from the men’s faces as they murmured amongst themselves. Some grabbed for the hilts of swords. Others remained motionless, unable to look away from Ceridwen.

“You wish to rape our women and slaughter our men. You want us to fear you for the weapons you carry,” her voiced boomed as her anger rose. “It is you who should be fearful.”

The men watched, eyes transfixed on Ceridwen as the glow of the lantern surrounded her.

She let go the reins and stretched her arms out. “Flee for your lives lest the very flames consume you!”

With a swift motion, she threw the lantern to the ground and clapped her hands together with a thunderous shock. Fire spread quickly around the slavers, who stood upon the dried grass while her party remained safely in the dirt.

Ceridwen smiled to herself as she heard the men scream in terror, racing off into the darkness. The fire died out quickly once it devoured the grass.

“Come,” she said calmly. “Arlais is near.”