Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (33 page)

“Mara?” Bronwen called out as she left her bower to inspect the messenger. Mara was nowhere to be found, something which Bronwen noticed happened with far more frequency as of late.

“My lady.” Owain rushed to meet her, heaving gulps of air to catch his breath. “Another messenger from Gweliwch has arrived. Should I inform the king?”

“Not yet. I would like to hear what news this messenger carries with him. Only if it is pertinent will the king be notified.”

Ivor and the messenger waited her presence at the foot of the central staircase. Ivor’s expression had not changed, and he was pale.

He bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“What matters of Gweliwch do you bring to these halls?”

“Your Majesty, the Gethin threaten to invade our lands. They teem near the border. The duke has sent word numerous times for aid, but his requests go unanswered.”

“There have been other messengers?” Ivor asked angrily.

“There have been,” Bronwen interjected. “But the king turned them away. Owain, inform the king that he must hear this man out. If Gweliwch is facing the horde, we must send aid.”

“The king is in the great hall, Your Majesty,” Owain informed her. “He meets with the lady Siân Amaetha and Declan Morehl.”

“Why was I not told of this?” Bronwen could scarcely believe Rhodri attended his duties without being forced, but Declan was Rhodri’s uncle, so perhaps it was a matter regarding family. Were that the case, however, why was Siân in attendance? “I shall speak with the king and see that he grants you audience.”

“Your Highness is kind, we thank you.”

Owain and Ivor followed her into the great hall where, as Owain said, Rhodri sat on the throne before Declan Morehl and Siân Amaetha, and a young girl she did not recognize. At their entrance, the three of them turned to face her, and Rhodri’s gaze was guarded. Ealdorman Gruffudd Barciau remained seated on the bench against the wall, observing. In addition to Barciau, four men bearing shields of Annwyd stood with a man she recognized from years before: Senator Grigor Boraste.

“I was not aware you were allowing the favor of your attention this day, lord husband.”

“Nor was I, Your Majesty,” Owain said.

“Owain, all the things of which you are not aware could fill my kingdom twice over.” Rhodri let out a laugh, and the rest of the room instinctively forced laughter. “This is a simple matter of court. My uncle wishes to wed the daughter of Ealdorman Amaetha. My uncle and Lady Amaetha have come to pay tribute to the crown for my permission‌—‌a generous tribute indeed, which I have accepted and for which I granted my blessing on their marriage.”

“And we are most appreciative of Your Majesty’s generosity.” Declan bowed.

“Owain shall see to it your marriage occurs once your tribute is firmly in the treasury. You may step back. What matters do you bring to court, Steward Ivor?”

“My lord.” Owain wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “This is most unusual. As steward, and your advisor, I should have been informed of you granting audience.”

“You are the steward, yes, but you overstep your station.” Rhodri leaned forward on the pommel of his sword, resting his chin as his eyes narrowed. “For I am High King, and my word is law. Now step back.”

Bronwen watched, astonished, as Owain stood in defiance for a moment before slinking back to the side of the room. She passed him as she walked toward her seat at the king’s side.

“Ivor. Proceed.” Rhodri sat back, removing his hands from the grip of his sword. “What matters do you bring?”

Ivor cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, a messenger has just arrived from Gweliwch, with words from Duke Rodric Gweliwch. The Gethin horde encroaches upon our land. The duke prepares now to march out against them before they overtake the province. He requests Your Majesty send him aid in the form of soldiers.”

Rhodri sat silently, arms crossed.

“Your Majesty?”

“Gweliwch’s duke is a soldier, born and bred. Gweliwch itself is a province of soldiers. Certainly they have enough without my sending a regiment to their aid. I will not take this under consideration.”

“But, Your Majesty‌—‌”

“Step back.”

Bronwen watched as Ivor’s grip tightened. Never had she seen Rhodri in such a manner. Ivor joined Owain in whispers near the wall as Rhodri waved the soldiers from Annwyd toward him. Declan seemed amazed by Rhodri’s actions as well, from what Bronwen could discern on his face.

Grigor Boraste stood before the king, ever-imposing with his senatorial regalia and two, large broadswords at his side. He bowed his head only slightly, and Rhodri looked down at the man’s face. Rhodri shrunk back into his chair, his grip on his sword trembling.

“Your Majesty, I come with word from King Madoc of Annwyd.”

“How does your king fare?”

“The war with Annwyd’s forces remains ever tiring for His Majesty. It is for that reason that he sent me to seek aid of the High King. The war threatens to spill over our borders into the farmlands and towns. Innocent lives will be lost.”

“Must I remind you that this is Annwyd’s war, not Cærwyn’s.”

“If you will forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, this war would not be necessary if it were not for the attack on the clansmeet nearly a decade prior.”

“Let us not continue with such a farce. While peasants may believe such a thing, it is not wise to tell such lies to your High King. Annwyd wishes to conquer the Brynlands for the profit which lies there. Let us not dance around that, hmm?”

“No matter. King Madoc wishes me to remind Your Majesty of the treaty High King Alric of Gwlachgwyn II signed when he wed our Lady Bronwen.”

Bronwen looked to Grigor, confused. She was unaware of the precise wording of the treaty, but did not see how it could be claimed. Cærwyn did not wish to fight Annwyd.

“I am aware of the treaty.” Rhodri sighed.

“Then you are aware it claims Annwyd, or Cærwyn, might call upon the forces of the other in times of war. It is not a negotiable clause, Your Highness. The late High King signed it himself. Cærwyn must answer Annwyd’s call.”

Rhodri’s teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw. “I warn you‌—‌it is not your place to demand action from the High King.”

Bronwen kept her gaze fixed on Rhodri. If he were to deny Annwyd’s request for aid, it would be tantamount to declaring war upon the neighboring kingdom. Though Annwyd’s forces were spread thin in their war with Arlais, they still had more than enough weaponry and manpower to destroy Cærwyn’s forces. Grigor knew that, or he would never have asserted such claims so boldly before the throne. Though he was High King, Rhodri seemed terrified of the repercussions his denial would carry. Already, Bronwen saw sweat on his brow, and feared the nobles would notice.

“When does Madoc require aid?” Rhodri cleared his throat.

“As soon as‌—‌”

“Your Majesty!” Ivor stormed forward. “You dare to ignore Duke Gweliwch’s call for aid and yet you answer Annwyd’s? You ignore your own people!”

For a moment, the world seemed to be engulfed in complete silence as Bronwen watched Rhodri swing his sword in a fierce arc. Ivor’s head rolled to the ground as a spray of blood covered the armor of the Annwydian soldiers. Even then, no one spoke. The only sound she heard was that of Rhodri’s heavy breathing.

As the room erupted, Owain rushed to her side and grabbed her arm. Her head swam as he pushed her toward Siân and her daughter, rushing them out of the din of the room.

“What has happened?” Mara panted as she walked briskly toward them.

“The king, he‌—‌he killed Steward Ivor of Gweliwch.”

Mara turned to her, and Bronwen nodded. For Rhodri to perform such an act was tantamount to a declaration of war on his own people. Rodric Gweliwch needed only an excuse for civil war to break out upon them. The shock waves from such an act would be catastrophic.

* * *

Bronwen sat in her bower as Mara gently washed her face with a warm cloth to remove the spatter of Ivor’s blood.

“Are you all right?” Mara brushed the hair out of her eyes. “You have not spoken much.”

“I am‌—‌I am frightened, Mara.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I do not know what I shall do. Tell me what I should do.”

“You are no longer a child, Bronwen. You are a woman now, and queen with a child of her own. You know what you must do. You do not need me to tell you.”

When a knock came at the door, Bronwen drew the dagger from the small sheath on her belt.

“My lady, it is I,” Owain whispered.

“You may enter, Owain.”

“My lady, this is a most unexpected turn of events.”

“You do so have a way of stating what is plain, do you not?”

“Do you not see, my lady? The nobles will withdraw their support of the king now. The king’s own uncle has openly stated he will not support sending soldiers to fight Arlais. Many in Helygen, including Declan, follow the Old Ways. Were he to send his forces to aid Annwyd, Helygen’s people would turn on him. You may lay claim to the throne!”

“And how am I to do that? Rhodri would kill me himself if I were to make such a claim, or did we not both witness what has just occurred?”

“Nobody wishes civil war to occur, my lady. If the nobles denounce Rhodri as High King, Duke Gweliwch may not declare war.”

“Duke Gweliwch wishes the throne to be his, there is none who would deny this. What would stop him from declaring war anyway to seize the throne from me for himself? Besides, the people would not simply follow me so easily. Some still view me as an outsider from Annwyd. With Annwyd’s war, the people would be even less likely to follow me. No, Rhodri must remain as king, but he will not rule.”

“But what of Gweliwch?”

“I would sooner risk war with Gweliwch than have a revolt within Cærwyn itself. While Declan might remain neutral in the war, he will see that this is best. He cannot deny Rhodri is less than suited to rule. Wait, what of the messenger from Gweliwch?”

Owain shook his head. “I tried to find him, Your Highness, but he already departed from the castle with word of Ivor’s murder. I sent out riders to find him, but‌—‌”

“If he reaches Gweliwch,” Bronwen stood, “our only hope is that Rodric remains preoccupied with the Gethin threat.”

“My lady, that is it!”

“What?”

“If we are to send the aid Rodric requested, it may ease his anger toward the king.”

Bronwen sighed. “But, we cannot. My brother’s request cannot go ignored. I will not have our borders go unprotected by splitting our forces three ways‌—‌no. I will send the reinforcements Madoc has asked for, but we will keep soldiers posted at our borders.”

Chapter XXIV