The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) Page 3

  “To my face—or behind my back?” Hywel chuckled. “If ‘sire’ comes naturally to you, so be it.”

  Glain tried hard not to smile, but she liked his humor. “Sire, then.”

  Hywel folded himself into a proper sitting position and beckoned her closer. “I have questions, Glain. Will you answer them for me?”

  Glain took several small paces nearer to the hearth, less sure of herself now. “If I am able, Sire.”

  “Good.” Hywel nodded at the small divan adjacent to his chair, indicating she should be seated. “It’s already late, and we may be a while.”

  Glain felt obliged to accept his hospitality, though she wasn’t quite sure it was proper. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite sure any of this was proper, but Ynyr was just outside. “I can’t imagine there is anything I know that Alwen does not.”

  “Is that so?” Hywel’s brow furrowed, and one eyebrow slid into an arch. “Does she know you better than you know yourself?”

  “I suppose not.” Glain was puzzled. What could Hywel possibly want to know about her?

  “Nor did she know Madoc well,” Hywel asserted. “It seems to me she hardly knew him at all.”

  “Alwen had only a short time with him before he passed, and those were frantic days.” Glain felt compelled to explain. “She was twenty years absent, after all.”

  “But you…,” Hywel said, leaning forward in a way that seemed to suggest affinity between them. He looked at her with a directness that should have unsettled her, but it did not. “You were close to him.”

  “I was his last apprentice. I spent most of my life attending him, learning from him.” Glain noticed that he still gripped the book, an old historical text. Hywel was clearly learned, but his hands were broad and coarse, more like those of a tradesman than a man of letters. “Everything I am, I owe to him.”

  Hywel nodded as though this information reassured him, and Glain found herself noticing other details like the small jagged scar crossing the ridge of his nose, and the particularly warm brown hue of his eyes, which were a lighter brown than his long curls. There was nothing overtly threatening about him, though she had seen his rage and heard him lauding his own ruthlessness.

  “You mentioned before that a warning came to you in a dream.” Hywel was engaging, and yet an air of self-possession ensured that anyone in his presence knew he held command. In this way, Hywel was intimidating. But he also appeared to her to be a much less obvious man than she had presumed. He was gentlemanly, even charming. “Do you have these dreams often?”

  Glain was unprepared for this question. She had never openly discussed her dreams with anyone but Madoc, though she brought her visions to Alwen when she thought they might help. She was reluctant to answer but had no legitimate reason to avoid it. The safest response was the simplest one.

  “Not so often that I dread sleep,” she offered. “But the visions are more common these past several months.”

  Again he nodded, as if she had given the answer he expected to hear. “These visions, do they always come to pass?”

  “Yes.” Glain was surprised how quickly this answer found its way out. The intense focus of his gaze had a way of making a person want to oblige him, if for no other reason than to escape it. “In some form or another.”

  Hywel wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue and then pressed them tightly together, contemplating his next approach. This made Glain exceedingly uncomfortable, but also curious and a little flattered.

  Finally he drew breath to speak. “If ever your dreams involve me, I wish to know.”

  Glain could see no reason that this should be at issue. “Alwen will keep you informed, of course.”

  “I am sure she will, when it suits her,” Hywel said. “But you misunderstand, Glain. I wish to be the first to know.”

  Glain did not know how to respond. She could not possibly agree, nor could she refuse. Hywel was the very embodiment of the prophecy the Stewardry existed to serve, but she answered to Alwen. No matter whose interests she chose to serve, one or the other of them might feel betrayed. Before Glain could decide what to say, Hywel stood and walked the book he was holding back to its place in the shelf on the wall behind the chair.

  “You are in possession of something very rare, you know,” he said. “Very few people can say they are owed my favor.”

  Glain, who was still struggling to find a way to respectfully decline his request, found herself at even further loss. “You owe me no favor, Sire.”

  “But I do.” Hywel returned to stand directly before her and held out his hand. “You saved my life tonight with your quick thinking and remarkable skill.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Glain put her hand in his and allowed Hywel to help her to her feet. When he did not immediately release the hold, her stomach fluttered, but she did not resist. His touch was warm, and her cheeks burned. Not from embarrassment, as they should, but from a more base response to the subtle sensuality of the gesture.

  “One day you will have need of something I can provide.” Hywel led her to the door, and then took both her hands as he captured her again with his gaze. “And when you do, you must not hesitate to ask.”

  Before she knew what was happening, Glain found herself taking her leave of the king in a silly, schoolgirl stupor and feeling all a-flush. It wasn’t until she was out in the hall and Ynyr had closed the door behind her that she realized how much Hywel had affected her. And only then did she realize that she had never actually refused his request.

  Morning dawned too bright on an angst-filled and sleepless night. Glain had spent the remains of it in tortured thought, assessing each of her colleagues. In the end, the decision was not so difficult to make. Of the three score and four Stewards who remained at Fane Gramarye, Glain trusted only four enough to count them among her chosen.

  The acolytes Ynyr and Ariane were her closest friends, and the apprentices Verica and Euday had supported her in the early days following Machreth’s insurrection, when Alwen had first appointed her proctor. All had served the Stewardry with distinction, though to varying degrees and ability. For these comrades Glain would sacrifice her own life, and they would vow the same for her. What else Alwen would ask of them, Glain could only guess.

  “So few?” Alwen seemed surprised, taking in the small group from the Sovereign’s chair atop the small dais in her private receiving room. “I see you continue to exclude Nerys from your confidence, Glain. She is an acolyte as well. Her experience and leadership might be useful.”

  “Yes, Sovereign.” Glain choked the urge to bristle with indignation. “But you charged me to bring only those I would trust with my life.”

  Alwen’s brow creased. “And still you do not count Nerys among them, even after her actions last night?”

  “I have no evidence yet, but there are reports of subversion, clandestine meetings with her own inner circle.” Glain’s frustration refused to be contained. “And I have not forgotten her allegiance to Cerrigwen.”

  “We have no proof of any allegiance to Cerrigwen beyond what duty demanded of her. Nerys was in service to Cerrigwen, just as you are in service to me,” Alwen reminded her. “But you are correct, Glain. The choice was yours to make. So be it.”

  Alwen surveyed the Stewards before her, her gaze lingering long enough to make them all even more anxious than they were already. Glain worried when Alwen’s eyes turned toward Ariane. What must Alwen think of her? And what would Alwen think of Glain, once she knew of her own private encounter with the king—if she were to know. It was only a passing thought. It would be wrong to withhold this truth.

  With her elbows cradled in the ornately carved armrests, Alwen rested her chin atop clasped hands and continued her contemplation. The silence stretched on, straining Glain’s nerves until she was sure they would snap.

  At last, Alwen looked directly at Ynyr. “Madoc held the opinion t
hat the Order never healed from the fracture that took place before you all were born. Nearly half the membership defected from the Stewardry then. Madoc thought this was how Machreth was able to encourage sedition among those who remained. Glain agrees. She thinks the discord still survives. What have you to say? Have recent events unified our Order, or does the Stewardry remain divided?”

  “The Stewards have always been of two minds, Sovereign, have we not?” Ynyr was scholarly and given to practical, well-considered opinion—qualities that provided a welcome counterbalance to Glain’s instinctive responses, even when she disagreed with him. “Some of us are purists, true believers one might say, those who take the prophecy of the Ancients in its most literal sense.”

  “As did Madoc,” Alwen affirmed.

  “Yes,” said Ynyr. “And then there are others who see the prophecy as an allegory which was meant to be interpreted in keeping with the ever-changing tides of time. These are the members to whom Machreth appealed, and some of them supported his course of action. However, the fact that any of us question or even argue either belief does not necessarily mean our loyalties are at odds.”

  Alwen acknowledged his point with a sideways tilt of her head. “And yet, there was a defection, and Machreth’s recent insurrection had support. Clearly there are ardent believers who have been willing to take the issue beyond argument. How many of them remain within our walls?”

  “That there is no answer to this question is a worry that plagues us all day and night, Sovereign,” Ynyr agreed. “Save your interrogating every one of the sixty-odd Stewards who remain, we may never know.”

  Glain was surprised by Ynyr’s not-so-subtle reference to Alwen’s power over the psyche, which he knew as well as anyone she would never employ in such a way.

  He raised his hands in petition. “If any one of us here were called to account for the contents of our thoughts, how might we be judged? In the end, it is our actions that define our loyalties.”

  Alwen nodded. “Every Steward here has sworn an oath to the Ancients and to the protection of the prophecy. Until I have evidence of wrongdoing, I take them all at their word. As Madoc would say, trust is the very essence of faith.”

  “When Machreth attacked Madoc and the Fane, he attacked us all,” Verica offered, “including his collaborators.”

  “Even so,” Glain said, urging caution, “we should assume there are some who would still join him if they could.”

  Alwen sighed. “I’m afraid this is a risk with which we must live. Even if I were to offer his supporters amnesty and let them go, I doubt any of them would reveal themselves. Nor would they leave the safety of the Fane.” Alwen straightened in her chair as though to signal her authority and then stood. “We have more urgent concerns. Come.”

  Glain and the others followed Alwen to the adjacent chamber—once Madoc’s personal scriptorium—to the massive hornbeam and hazelwood desk that now anchored its northeast corner. Alwen had ordered it moved out of the receptory in order to work in private.

  “I have been studying the ancestry of the Stewardry.” Alwen settled herself in the seat behind the desk and gestured to the giant leather-bound tome that lay open before her. “This ledger is the official chronology of the founding bloodlines. Naturally, there are five separate delineations, each beginning with the Ancient of origin and continuing with the direct descendants of every generation that follows. The last permanent entries are the known births from each clan that mark the beginning of Madoc’s era, as recorded by his predecessor.”

  Alwen reached for a small stack of parchment rolls and gathered them into her hands. “Each of these is a record of the current generation, the offspring of the last hundred or so years. Those among us who are descendants of the Ancients, like myself, are named here. Most of our membership, however, are wildlings and halflings. The founding bloodlines have grown so thin they are nearly extinct.”

  “Wildlings?” Verica’s lack of training showed itself in the worst possible moments, but Glain had only herself to blame for that.

  “Mages born at random to plain folk.” Ynyr tried to satisfy her with the shortest possible answer and minimize the embarrassment of her ignorance. “A halfling is bred when a mage mates with plain folk, but a wildling is a true mage that just naturally springs up. It happens from time to time.”

  “Many people in these parts have sorcerer’s blood in their family lines and either do not know it or do not admit so.” Alwen was ever kind and always welcoming of an opportunity to teach. “Long ago, when the Stewardry was still known to the world, it was common for children who showed an inclination toward magic to be brought to us. But eventually, a mage birth became a dangerous thing, and to keep themselves from being found out, the families began to abandon the babes.”

  “Or kill them,” Euday added.

  “Yes, Euday, a sad truth,” Alwen acknowledged with obvious regret. “And the favored practice these days, I’m afraid. It used to be that Madoc would make regular travels outside the Fane in search of the wildlings and bring them back here. He called them his foundlings. But I understand it has been many years since any abandoned witches or wizard babes have been found.”

  Alwen loosed a short sigh and redirected the discussion. “As for the scrolls, as you can see, I have only four.” She let the rolls drop, one by one, naming each as they fell upon the desktop. “Caelestis, Eniad, Uir, and Morthwyl. The fifth scroll, the continuation of the Primideach line, Madoc’s heritage, is missing. As is his last testament, which was left for me but never recovered after his death.”

  Frustration sharpened the tone of her words. “This, of course, presents a dilemma on the issue of Madoc’s successor. I am his proxy, not his heir. My birthright is to lead the Circle of Sages. It was also Madoc’s express desire.”

  Glain was riddled with prickles of guilt. She shared Alwen’s distress for all the same reasons, but she had one that was all her own. Long had she been Madoc’s confidante, but in the frenzied hours of his last days, Madoc had gone to great lengths to safeguard his legacy. He had handed her his absolute trust and in return demanded a vow of silence. This quickly became a difficult pledge to keep, and Glain had struggled with it every day since. Madoc was a masterful keeper of secrets, but she had never quite acquired the stomach for it. At the moment, Glain felt as though she had swallowed far too many—and the morning meal was curdling in her gullet.

  Alwen leaned forward, elbows propped upon the open pages of the ancient book and hands clasped, contemplating them all again. “It has been suggested to me that Cerrigwen somehow found Madoc’s hiding place and stole away his testament when she escaped. I do not believe this to be the case. His testament remains in this castle, as does the record of his lineage. We must find them both.”

  “Might they not just as easily have been destroyed as concealed?” Verica wondered.

  Glain went cold all over. This was an impossible thought. What if the scrolls were never found? The knowledge they contained had such great value that Madoc had protected them like precious treasure. What was to be done if they were lost?

  “I have considered this,” Alwen said. “But the information in those documents is too precious. The only person who might gain anything by destroying them is Machreth, but even he would be more likely to leverage the knowledge. I am also convinced that neither he nor Cerrigwen had access to these chambers. They couldn’t have taken the scrolls.”

  Glain could not help but wonder if Madoc had somehow not foreseen the potential for theft or destruction of the scrolls by some other traitor. And then again, perhaps he had, and this was all a test of her faith in him. Madoc had held a hard line when it came to revelations. What knowing came to a Steward by way of visions and signs was meant to be used to guide others toward a wiser choice. But when a person would not be persuaded, the fates were meant to unfold of their own accord—no matter how tempting it might be to force a different o
utcome. Whether or not a supernatural power should intervene was for the Ancients to say, and this had been where Madoc and Machreth had become so fatally divided. Madoc believed guidance still came from the Ancients, through signs and visions, whereas Machreth believed they had long abandoned their followers to their own designs. Glain had always sided with Madoc’s beliefs and would never have questioned his wisdom when he was alive. But in this moment, she was discovering an understanding for the alternative view. It was misery.

  “No,” Alwen proffered. “I believe the scrolls remain intact and within the Fane. Whoever has them effectively holds the Stewardry and the prophecy hostage. An intolerable situation. I have decided to charge Glain with retrieving them, and thereby the rest of you.”

  It took all the strength Glain had to keep from sighing aloud with relief. Salvation had arrived. She could think of no happier task than to find the scrolls, which would put at least part of her conscience at rest. Still, carrying the authority of search and seizure was not altogether appealing. The role of the inquisitor was somber, even harsh. It was not a responsibility to accept lightly.

  Alwen held up one of the parchments. “Both scrolls are likely to be similar to this in size. The vellum Madoc favored is quite distinctive, as is his handwriting. If the original seal is intact, you will recognize his signet. You shall investigate relentlessly and under the full authority of my name. Look everywhere, question everyone, and let no one refuse you. Discretion is a waste of valuable time and serves no one’s interest save the person who took the scrolls in the first place.”

  “Why would someone take them?” Euday voiced what they all wondered. “What reason could there possibly be to keep them from you?”

  “I do not know, Euday, though I do have my suspicions.” Alwen pressed her lips together in a grim line, as though those suspicions were painful to entertain. “Whatever the reason, my first concern is the scrolls themselves. We will have our answers later.”