Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (9 page)

Soon, the whispers from the group grew louder, and Gawain realized the huddle of people had emerged from the side street and followed behind them.

Aeronwy’s pace quickened.

“Oi! You lot,” a man shouted from behind.

Brân tucked his hand under Gawain’s arm and gripped it, nearly dragging him as they both walked faster and faster. “Keep moving.”

“Oi!”

Aeronwy stopped, unsheathing her sword as she turned to face their pursuers.

Gawain turned on his heel with Brân still at his side.

Out of the shadows of the alley, he was able to see a clear view of how ominous they looked. A hulking man stood at the front of the group, a large scar covering what was left of his eye, his jaw so strong it looked as though he could bite through metal. His companions were smaller by comparison, but looked just as deadly.

Aeronwy took a step forward, and the hulking man grit his teeth and narrowed his good eye. “You looking to start something?”

He jutted his chin toward Gawain and cocked his head to the side. “Where’d you find that one? Looks worse for wear.”

“What does it matter to you?” Aeronwy took another step toward him.

He ignored her, and continued to study Gawain. “Got anything good in there?”

Gawain tightened his grip on his pack.

“Give it ‘ere.”

As the hulking giant lunged forward, Aeronwy’s fist met his nose with a thud. The man stumbled back, falling into his companions.

“I was only funnin’ ya. No need to be a right cunt about it.” He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

“Get back to your wife before she gets a taste of another man’s cock and realizes what she has been missing.” She waved her hand at them. Only after the group stumbled off to take care of the giant did Aeronwy sheathe her sword.

The reality of where he walked hit him, and he was incredibly thankful to be in their company. Should his companions not accompany him, he knew he would be dead where he stood.

As they walked further toward the center of the city, the sound of metal on metal echoed down the alley. Soft at first, the sound grew louder and louder as the buildings parted and revealed what appeared to be the square.

“Aye, smithy!” Aeronwy shouted. “Keep that racket down!”

Across the square, the burly blacksmith lowered his hammer and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Quiet, woman, or I will have your sword for a trophy!”

Aeronwy laughed. “And you think you could take it from me?”

Gawain instinctively reached for his sword as she ran at full speed toward the man. But he relaxed when she leapt into his arms, wrapped her legs around his torso, and kissed him wildly.

“Aeronwy’s husband, Caine,” Brân explained.

“Yes, I thought it might be.” Gawain rubbed the scruff on his jaw, surprised it had grown in as fully as it had.

“He is the guildmaster for the smithies‌—‌not that you could really call so few a guild.”

“How many are there?”

“Half a dozen.”

“That is few.”

“Some left with the Arlaïns after the Carega Rhyfela,” he said, waving to Caine. “Traitors, the lot of them.”

Gawain only nodded as he waited for Aeronwy to rejoin them. But his silence seemed to appease the noted anger within Brân’s voice.

“This way,” Aeronwy said, and she led them toward a large building near the center of the city. A most inhospitable sight. The crests and banners were tattered and torn from time’s grip, and there were no fires burning in the braziers on either side of the entrance.

“Keep silent,” she warned him as they approached the heavy wooden door. “Allow us to speak first. Lord Neirin does not look kindly upon outsiders.”

Gawain followed them into a dark hall. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw two rows of large stone columns which ran from one end of the room to the other. Cobwebs and dust blanketed them. The faded, threadbare carpet beneath his feet must have been a sight to behold in its prime. Never had he seen one of such length, or woven so intricately.

He limped at Brân’s side to the far end of the hall where a light spilled out from an open doorway.

As they neared, a soft, but strong, voice from the room called out, “Come in, my children.”

Neirin looked up from his large oak desk, dressed in robes far simpler than the embroidered layers which Gawain would have expected someone of such rank to don. Up close, he appeared frail, gaunt, and old. Another Féinmhuinín man, whom Gawain did not recognize, stood at his side. Gawain would have thought him a guard, but the man was dressed in similar robes to Neirin.

“Aeronwy, Brân, you have returned,” the old man said as he slowly stood. “You bring an outsider?”

The other man stopped Gawain from approaching the desk, but the one he protected did not approve. “That will not be necessary, Taí,” Neirin said, and motioned him back.

“My lord Neirin, this is‌—‌”

“I know who he is, Brân, yes, I know. You have brought Duke Gweliwch’s son, Gawain of Gweliwch.”

“We found him injured in the forest, my lord.” Aeronwy stepped in front of Brân to shield him from blame. “I thought it best to bring him here, were he a spy.”

“He does not seem to seek our harm,” Brân blurted out, unwilling to be silenced by Aeronwy. “But, instead, our assistance. We will need all the help we can manage. Annwyd has Féinmhuinín craft at‌—‌”

“Leave us,” Neirin commanded. “I wish to speak to the boy alone.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Both bowed slightly before they left. But only Brân shot Gawain a concerned glance as he passed.

“Taí, please bring our guest mead from the larder.”

The guard bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

“Please, be seated.” Neirin waved his arm toward the chairs in front of his desk. “You have no worries here. I wish you no harm.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Gawain sat, still uneasy, maintaining his weight on his good leg so his wounded one could rest.

He looked around at the room in the fire’s light. Although it must have been a busy, prominent library at one time, it now looked lost and abandoned. Only a handful of books and scrolls remained on the shelves, and those were blackened, scorched from a fire long since past.

Neirin followed his gaze. “Yes, young man, you have entered where no outsider has entered in nearly a millennia: the great library of Glyndŵr. What remains here are merely ghosts of knowledge we once possessed. Those relics and tomes which could be saved were smuggled out by Meïnir traitors to Arlais. But you did not come to discuss the past, did you?”

“Forgive me, my lord Neirin,” Gawain stuttered. “I did not expect to be granted your welcome.”

“It is true, we do not often grant hospitality to those who do not come from Glyndŵr. You are another matter, however.”

“My lord?”

“I told you that I knew why you have come here. Always, I am dreaming. I see things that have happened away from my sight. I also see things that have not yet come into being.”

Intrigued, Gawain asked, “And you have seen me?”

“You are a great warrior, Gawain of Gweliwch. Or perhaps I should refer to you as the Champion of the Goddess?”

“I do hail from Arlais by request of the Lady Rhiannon.”

“Then it would give you great sorrow to learn of her passing from this world.”

“What? When?”

“There was an attack on the Arlaïn year-end festival by the dogs at the Vega Outpost. To spare her people, she sacrificed herself. I knew the Lady Rhiannon long ago. It was she who signed the treaty with the Duamor.” Neirin let out a lingering breath. “I held such contempt for her for a time, though I long ago forgave her for her actions. I see now that she only wished to spare both the Meïnir and Féinmhuinín further suffering at the hands of the Duamor.”

Gawain swallowed the lump in his throat and collected his thoughts. “Then you would help the efforts of Arlais? I travel to Eurig to enlist the help of the Duamor king for‌—‌”

Neirin shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot.”

“But, my lord, you just said‌—‌”

“Were it at all possible, I would see you wipe out every last Hume in this land.”

“Then why will you not help me?”

“Look around you, boy!” Neirin’s anger flared. “Glyndŵr is a dead city! We have but twenty-seven inhabitants within her walls!”

“Twenty-seven?”

“Long have we tasted the Goddess’ smite upon our people. Through our blindness, we brought upon Her wrath. We scorned Her teachings out of anger, and we have been punished for our hubris. We bear no children in this land. We are an effete people, merely shadows passing through this world, waiting for our time to come and the Goddess to grant us sweet release.”

“Then would you not seek Her favor and aid me in my quest?”

Neirin sat silently for a moment. “I cannot ask any of the Féinmhuinín to bear your burden when I, myself, am unwilling to participate in war. I will pledge the Reibirian forces to you, however. We will keep only what we need for defensive measures and you may recruit the rest for your effort.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

“I will have Taí make the arrangements.”

“My lord, there is but one more boon I must ask of you.”

“What is it?”

“A friend of mine, he was injured at the clansmeet.”

“Ah, yes, the attack by the mercenaries.”

“They used Féinmhuinín poison on their arrows, in an effort to have blame fall on your people for the attack. I know of no antidote. I hope you have the answer I seek.”

“If there is an antidote, its formula would have been housed in this library and long ago lost to us. We have not used such poisons in centuries. It is unknown to me how the mercenaries were even capable of using such arrows. Believe me, though, I am certain to learn of how such treachery was accomplished.”

“Then I can do nothing,” Gawain said under his breath.

“While I do not know of an antidote, I can only think of one place that you may seek answers. Travel across the Bæðweg Glæs’ waters to the Īeg Searian. The ancients who dwell there may hold the key to your friend’s survival. Though, nobody has seen them in centuries. Only there can I think to send you, but do not dare to hope.”

Gawain slumped back in the chair, feeling defeated. He had heard stories of the ancient folk who lived across the seas on their island. In truth, it was not an island. A thin land bridge north of Gweliwch on the border of Cythroghl linked Dweömer and Īeg Searian. The Gethin made their homes in the mountains though, and the bridge was comprised of nothing but hazardous marshlands and rock spires which jutted from the sea’s edge. It was nearly impossible to reach the Īeg Searian by land.

The journey over the Bæðweg Glæs was a perilous one as well. In Hume tongue, it was The Sea of Glass, named for the icy rock formations which plagued ships attempting to cross. There had been few ships to make it to the island, and fewer still to return to speak of it. It was a land rumored to hold riches in timber and minerals, but it had been generations since either Annwyd or any of the Cærwynian provinces had dared to send an expedition.

Would he truly find Connor’s salvation in the savage land upon which few had set foot? Were it merely fantasy, he must still tell Connor of his findings. If only to grant him hope that there may be an antidote. Ceridwen would likely know if there were any means to reach the island as well. There was an ancient tribe who came to Arlais from the Īeg Searian centuries ago. Perhaps the Arlaïn library contained information for safe passage through the icy waters. Even were it all for naught, Arlais must be made aware of the Féinmhuinín’s innocence in the assault on the clansmeet.

“Taí,” Neirin beckoned.

The man entered silently, carrying a tray. He handed Gawain a tankard filled with sweet spiced mead.

“You will forgive the taste,” said Neirin. “We have not often made it. Its creation is left to the Reibirians who dwell in the surrounding area.”

“You have my thanks, Lord Taí.” Gawain took a sip of the mead, stifling a grimace at the overt spiced quality.

Taí smiled and nodded as if he completely understood.

“Do not think him disrespectful, he does not speak.”

Gawain looked back to Taí. “Does he not?”

“He long ago cut out his tongue in attribution to the Goddess. He sought to earn Her favor by providing sacrifice to prove his worth as a supplicant. He felt he was too prideful in his disregard for the Gods, but his actions fell upon deaf ears.”

Taí had a forlorn look upon his face as he set the tray down on the desk and took his place once more near the fire, at Neirin’s side.

“Children, it is good you have returned,” said Neirin when Aeronwy and Brân entered the room.

Gawain was also glad to see them. He felt outnumbered, despite Neirin’s kindness toward him.

“Have you news?” Aeronwy asked, glancing at Gawain.

“Yes,” said Neirin. “I would like you to accompany Gawain on this quest to enlist Eurig’s help. Though it pains me to admit, the Duamor’s help is greatly needed if we are to save our way of life. It seems befitting that the circle is complete now. They once sought our destruction, and yet now we must rely on their assistance if we are not to face genocide.”

“Leave Glyndŵr, my lord?” Brân’s face trembled slightly.

“Yes, child. Though not forever. You must help this young man to fulfill his goal. It is of the utmost importance. I have pledged the Reibirian’s help to Arlais’ cause. If this land is to be rid of Hume atrocities, we must all play our part.”

“What would you have of us, my lord?” Aeronwy placed her closed fist upon her chest.

“You and Brân shall travel to Eurig with him. Show him swiftly through the mountains. You know your way through the crags as well as anyone. We must put past misdeeds aside and swallow our pride.”

Brân looked to him, and Gawain could tell he was glad to be able to travel together for a longer period of time, though he looked nervous to leave the safety of the forest. He wondered how often Brân had left the forest before the scouting mission when he and Aeronwy traveled to what was left of the Vega Outpost.

“Pack lightly, there is no need for trinkets.” Neirin smiled slightly. “And be safe. Our fate may very well rest in the hands of this young man, so I trust in you to make certain he succeeds.”