Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (29 page)

As they neared the castle, Connor saw the banners of Helygen had been replaced with black ones to signify the mourning period of Lady Siana.

“Quicken pace,” Connor said. “I worry for my brother.”

He raced toward the gates of the castle town and the others trailed behind, attempting to reach Víðófnir’s pace. As he rode down the slope, toward the town, he could see much had changed since he last set foot there. Densely packed houses surrounded the castle for protection.

There had been no need for walls when he was last there.

A temporary wall of large timbers surrounded the town while a stone wall was under construction. The castle’s stone walls were finished, but it would be some time before the entire city enjoyed the same protection.

“Halt!” One of the many guards shouted from atop the closed gate.

Connor pulled on Víðófnir’s reins, Gawain and the others riding up behind him.

“State your name and rank. What business do you have in Helygen?”

“He is Lord Connor,” Gawain called. “Younger brother of the duke.”

“I come to see how my brother fares in the wake of the Lady Siana’s untimely passing.”

“Go fetch Steward Morehl,” the guard told one of the others.

“Steward Morehl?” Gawain whispered to Connor.

“He is my uncle, Declan Morehl,” Connor replied. “My mother’s younger brother. He was given control of Helygen while my brother was too young to rule, and he sent us to the safety of Cærwyn. He is a follower of the Old Ways, as she was.”

Connor heard the clanging of the guard’s armor as they shuffled aside. He smiled when his uncle came forward.

Declan Morehl remained an imposing man, just as Connor remembered, towering a full head above even the tallest of men in the kingdom. The same auburn hair Connor’s mother possessed also crowned her brother, worn in loose curls trailing down his back and around his broad shoulders. The last Connor saw of him, he was fifteen years of age with the same auburn scruff on his chin. But the scruff matured into a full beard, trimmed somewhat neatly.

Declan, a mere four years Rhodri’s elder, was very much like a brother, so it was hard to think of him as an older uncle, as he did with Alric.

“Connor?” Declan did not have to struggle to see the boy he remembered. “You look so like your mother. Open the gates!”

The heavy timbers creaked and scraped in the trenches, previously dug into the hard clay. As Connor rode through, he saw it took several men on either side to heave them open.

Declan raced down the steps, hitting the ground with a quake. He embraced Connor and easily lifted him off Víðófnir with one hoist of his massive arms.

Connor cried out in pain, his wound stinging beneath his uncle’s strength.

“I am sorry.” Declan laughed and set him upon the ground, slapping him hard on the shoulder. “It would seem I do not know the strength I wield.”

“I am all right,” said Connor, glancing at Gawain, who looked upon him with worry.

“It is most fortuitous that you have arrived at this time,” Declan said in a hushed voice as he put his arm around him. “Your brother, he is not well. Lady Siana’s death has left him wracked with grief. He does not function as the duke, so I have been in charge of Helygen since his return.”

“What do you mean he does not function?” Connor looked up, realizing his head did not even reach Declan’s shoulder.

“He stays in their quarters most days. He leaves only at my insistence.”

They walked toward the castle with Víðófnir and Gawain’s men following.

“Your men may stable their horses there,” Declan said to Connor, loudly enough for them all to hear.

Connor turned to Gawain and nodded.

“I will have beds prepared in the guard quarters, beside the stables, for them.”

“Declan.” Connor stopped and motioned toward his escort. “This is Gawain, son of the Duke of Gweliwch and appointed Steward for his province.”

“You have my most humble apologies.” Declan bowed his head slightly to Gawain. “You shall sleep in the guest quarters inside the castle, of course.”

“You have my thanks,” Gawain said. “Garth, make yourself useful and stable the horses.”

“Aye.” Garth grumbled.

“Víðófnir.” Connor took off his reins and pointed to the stable. The animal immediately took the order. “Do not attempt to pen him, Sir Garth‌—‌for your own sake.” Connor laughed.

“After seein’ what he did back in Cærwyn, I wouldn’t dare.”

Gawain dismounted, looking around. “Your homeland is beautiful.”

“It is not as I remember it, but yes.” Connor let the fresh aroma of the grove on the wind fill his nostrils, accompanied by the warmer sea air of the south. “It is nonetheless my home.”

“Come.” Declan continued toward the door of the castle.

As Connor stepped into the entry hall, childhood memories flooded his mind. He remembered running throughout the castle with his brother, playing games, pretending they were off on adventures. He remembered it being far larger, but Castle Helygen was much smaller than Castle Cærwyn.

The wooden timbers that had been used as corner posts during the construction of the castle were left bare and could be seen at the corner of every wall. The walls, covered in plaster, were much more inviting than Cærwyn’s walls of stone. The family crest of Helygen hung over the large archway immediately in front of him, just as it had those many years ago.

He took note that the richly colored tapestries on both walls of the entry hall had been covered by black cloth, a reminder of Siana’s death. It took Connor a few moments to realize darkness swallowed the entirety of the castle. No fires were lit, no torches alight. Nothing but the morning sun, peeking through the windows, illuminated the hall.

“Where is Rhodri?” Connor turned to Declan.

“Before I take you to him, we must speak,” he replied, glancing at Gawain.

“You may speak freely before him,” Connor assured his uncle.

Declan frowned; Connor watched his nostrils flare. The great bear of a man towered over them both, and though Connor knew he would not physically harm either of them, he still possessed the power to intimidate.

“I shall show Gawain to the guest quarters,” Connor told him. “And then we shall speak of matters.”

“You remember where it is? You were so young when you left.”

“I remember everything about the castle.”

“Meet me in the great room once you have shown our guest to his quarters.”

“Very well.”

Connor led Gawain up the main staircase to the second floor. He enjoyed the warmth the wood of the banister gave the staircase. It was not until now that he realized how cold Castle Cærwyn was in its architecture. He preferred Helygen’s wood and plaster construction to Cærwyn’s stone and mortar.

“It is just down this hall,” Connor said.

The hall, lacking windows, was pitch black. Connor placed his hand upon the wall and felt his way to the jamb of a door. He turned the handle and pushed. Inside, he was able to see a sliver of light on the far wall. By sheer luck alone, he managed to find a room with a window.

“Stay here,” he told Gawain.

He inched across the dark room, arms outstretched until he felt the skins before the window and pulled them aside. Light immediately flooded the room.

“You are in luck,” Connor said. “There is a fireplace. I shall fetch a servant to light it for you.”

“There is no need.” Gawain sat their packs on the floor. “I am perfectly capable of lighting a fire.”

“I would stay longer, but I must speak with my uncle,” Connor told him as he lifted his pack onto his shoulder.

“Do not worry. Speak with your uncle and attend to your brother. We may see each other later.”

Connor left the room, back out into the darkness of the hall. He headed for his old room on the outer wall of the castle. Thankfully, this hall contained two bright windows that cast light onto the opposing wall.

He passed Rhodri’s childhood room first and opened the door next to it. His room had been redecorated, as he expected. He remembered his brother telling him some time ago about the change. He said that the room would be ready for Connor whenever he decided to return. There was nothing left from his childhood but memories. All of his belongings went with him to Castle Cærwyn.

The bed was an adult four-poster, quite expensive. Upon it, lavish blankets spread atop the well-stuffed mattress. Thick, colorful tapestries hung from the walls. In addition, the other standards for any bedroom remained nearby, such as the wash basin near the fireplace, table and chairs near the foot of the bed. Connor now saw what his brother meant.

He sat his pack down on the table, thankful to be rid of the weight. He opened the pack and took out the last of the bandages and salve before removing his tunic.

Thank the Goddess it does not hurt to take it off anymore.

He slowly peeled back the bandages and winced as the last layer lifted from the wound.

The spread of the dark striations across his chest seemed to slow, but had already started to weave around his shoulder and down his arm. To his dismay, he saw no sign of a scab forming. The wound remained as fresh as the first day he laid eyes upon the festering gash.

He touched it lightly with his fingers and was met with a feeling of fire throughout his body. He let out a small, muffled yelp as he slathered the salve over the wound. He carefully bandaged himself again with the last from his pack before putting his tunic back on.

Tension wracked him from riding on horseback for so long. He felt it throughout his body as he cracked his neck to either side. He was happy he would be able to sleep in a bed this night instead of the ground in a draft-ridden tent. He lifted the blade Gawain had given him and watched it sparkle in the light, thankful to have had Gawain escort him to Helygen. He knew he would have lacked the strength to make it without him and his men. He set the blade on the bedside table and left to speak with Declan.

The great room in Castle Helygen was modest, a large room with a vaulted ceiling held up by timber beams. A large, stone fireplace took up the majority of the farthest wall, in which a bright, cheery fire was crackling. In front of the fireplace stood two tables pushed together to form one long table running the length of the room. On either end were two elaborately carved chairs for the duke and duchess while benches served as seating at the sides of the tables.

Connor paused to admire the large, fur rugs that had been placed around the room for warmth during the cooler months.

Declan looked up from the bench near the fireplace. “Ah, you are here. Come, sit here by me.”

When he sat, the guards left the room and shut the two main doors behind them.

“I thought it best we spoke in private,” Declan explained. “So I ordered them from the room.”

“What news of my brother?”

“Before we speak of him, you must tell me what has happened in Cærwyn. There are talks of war.”

“My brother has not told you?”

Declan shook his head. “You brother has not spoken very much since his return. For him, I believe the grief is still too fresh.”

“The assault upon the castle before the clansmeet.”

“What?” Declan’s eyes widened. “By whom?”

“The Féinmhuinín. They attacked in the dead of night. Nobles in the courtyard were slaughtered‌—”

“What of Alric?” Declan interrupted.

“He was not injured, nor the Lady Rhiannon and her party.” Connor stood from the bench and lifted his tunic, pulling the bandages aside. “I, however, was not so fortunate to be spared their arrow.”

“Connor.” Declan leaned forward to see the wound more closely. “This is no normal wound.”

“No, it is not.” Connor pulled his tunic back down, refusing to elaborate on the matter.

“And Alric will launch a war against the Féinmhuinín for their actions?”

“Alric is a peaceful man. Even for such an assault, he would not wish for war. Of Braith Denorheim of Annwyd, however, I am not certain.”

“He has motivations of his own, of that, I am sure.”

“The Brynlands.”

“Aye, he has always wanted to expand Annwyd’s borders. If he could, he would stretch them as far as our own, and farther.”

“What I say to you now, it does not leave this room, not even to my brother. Do I have your word?”

“Of course.” Declan seemed taken aback by Connor’s stern and sobered tone. “What is it?”

“While I have come here out of concern for my brother, I do not plan to stay here in Helygen very long.”

“Then you have not come home after all?”

Connor shook his head. “I plan to go to Arlais. I must seek the Lady Rhiannon’s aid. She is the only one who may be able to heal me.”

Declan paced before the fire. “These truly are dark times. If Rhodri had but told me of this…‌no, I must not fault the duke. Connor, we must speak of this war.”

“I know not of such things. You should speak to Rhodri.”

“Listen to me…” Declan looked down at the floor.

“You have been avoiding any talk of my brother. Tell me what is wrong,” Connor demanded.

“You are right. I have not wanted to speak of it. I had hoped that he would fare better by now.”

“He is in mourning. It is to be expected that‌—”

“It is more than that. He has ordered that no light be lit in the castle. I disobey his orders by having this very fireplace burning. He does not leave his room. He…‌he still speaks to her.”

“To Siana?” Connor did not like the sound of this.

“Yes. I hear him mumbling to himself. He speaks to her as though she stands by his side.”

“I must see him.”

“I only hope that you have some influence upon him.” Declan shook his head. “I have not been able to break through his grief. Though I might speak, he does not hear.”

“Take me to him.”

Connor followed Declan out of the main hall and up the stairs to his brother’s chambers. His mind reeled. He had worried about Rhodri since hearing news of Siana’s death, but did not think he would have lost touch with reality.

Declan knocked on the door. “My Lord.”

There was no answer.

“Rhodri.” He knocked harder.