XIX – Alpha and Omega

In his right ear, Gwion heard the gasp of Cloet’s laboured breathing. The weight of his own body pressed down upon Cloet’s chest, but, ere releasing him, he made sure that Tregor had vanished and, with him, the danger.

'Now I understand how my uncle has survived for so long. I owe you my life,' said the prince from the floor.

He had but now rescued the very man who had nearly stolen the woman he loved—and that compliment made him uneasy.

Hastening to his feet, he avoided eye contact and did not perceive that, caught in the folds of Cloet’s waistcoat by the friction of the fall, Celtión’s letter had remained.

The prince took it surreptitiously, at first supposing it to be a missive for him, but then, upon discovering the princess’s seal, he concealed it in his fist.

'See that he still lies in the dungeon,' Arwel commanded a soldier as he went to assist Owin, who tended to the swooned Lerg.

Gwion, who sought an excuse to depart, cried out that he would undertake the errand and hastened along the corridor.

'Tregor was not wrong—none are more deluded than us. They did not capture him; he gave himself up. He is the first prisoner who actually takes pleasure in the dungeon. Idiots!' Arwel roared, flinging his sword aside.

From the floor, watching his commander’s tantrum, Owin rested Lerg’s head upon his lap.

It was in his hands to save him, and he did so—not because he desired to; for a moment he considered making an excuse about being incapable and letting him die, but he imagined the consequences it would have for the kingdom.

With a gesture, he requested that Arwel pluck one of the red gems Lerg had sewn into his boots—and, as he crumbled it between his fingers, he laid a warm beam of energy of the same hue upon the motionless breast of the King of Welst until he opened his eyes.

Miar still stood beneath the arch, her smile intact and her face besmirched with blood.

Gregor, labouring to contain the anger mingled with remorse for having nearly slain the old woman, commanded two soldiers to tend to her.

Meanwhile, he strode past Cheas and laid his hand upon his shoulder, signalling him to follow to where Windar waited.

'We were worried about you, my lady.'

'A queen knoweth when she is in danger. Since I was not—I do not understand your concern,' she said, pausing to look at them with her pale green eyes as she added, 'Unless ye know who is behind all this, or ye distrust me.'

Cheas was about to reply when Welst’s fifteen soldiers, without making a sound, stood behind their rulers and, in unison, drew their swords.

Narg observed Maed’s gait and the volume he held in his hands, but far from being alarmed, he began to pace back and forth along the corridor.

He needed to clear his thoughts. His grandmother’s letter had been precise: 'Lerg has arrived in the kingdom with his son and fifteen soldiers. Hurry. With love, W. H.'

He knew the roads from Tloston were unsafe, which might justify that handful of soldiers accompanying him, but what if he had his battalion lying in wait, ready to lay siege to them?

He pondered the likelihood of taking Lepontia’s troops with him to guard his return, but how long would it take them to prepare, and how much would they retard his progress?

Then there was the option of calling upon the armies of Cartos and Korkolat to escort him as he passed through the kingdoms; however, by the time they were mustered and reached the border, he would be in the same predicament.

Either way, he felt as though he were facing two foes at once: Lerg, whom he could surely vanquish with his eyes shut, and time, that damned thing slipping through his fingers.

It was whilst he was cracking his knuckles that he hesitated. How did Windar know he was in Lepontia? Owin’s letter had reached him via a locating spell, he was sure of it. He began to do the maths and think: ‘If Owin was in Ubberia when…’.

Kuopio was observing Narg’s comings and goings when Maed stood beside him and nudged his arm with his elbow. The red-haired soldier’s reaction, as he glanced sideways at the book, was instantaneous: he took half a step back whilst searching Maed’s eyes for an explanation he did not find.

Narg did not overlook his warriors’ behaviour, but he had to find an answer and thanked Odín for having endowed him with enough intuition to leave his kingdom to Arwel and Gwion. ‘May the light be with them and may they deal with Lerg, or kill him—I do not care,’ he thought.

The elite troop deployed before the grandmother queen. Arwel and Gregor, arrayed at the van, would serve as spokesmen to soothe the spirits, though even they knew not what to say.

'It would be to everyone’s advantage if you calmed down. We have no intention of harming you. And believe me when I say: the handful of soldiers accompanying you are not enough to overthrow us and take the castle,' said Arwel as he brushed his hair back, more eager for war than for peace.

'We are just as alarmed as you are,' added Gregor.

'Pure nonsense,' quoth Windar, and strode between them to approach her nephew.

Arwel attempted to stay her, yet she freed her arm with a sharp gesture.

'This is a matter of royal import which I shall resolve myself. See ye to your duty and lock the widow with Tregor.'

'But milady , that place is no fit dwelling for an elderly woman,' said Cheas.

'If ye refuse to understand, ye have seen it with your own eyes. That woman is a sorceress—she could never have emerged unscathed otherwise. She is plotting against your king, and my word is law. Lock her up.'

Narg’s thoughts raced through his mind, even as his feet marched tirelessly, the heels of his boots clacking against the floor.

As if that rhythmic tapping provided the clarity he needed to piece things together.

Lost in that trance that had saved his life so many times, he ignored the uncertainty of those around him.

Celtión drew near, her hands within the pockets of her tunic, and peered at the book Maed guarded so jealously.

Kuopio, who had observed this, was surprised by the lack of reaction upon the priestess’s countenance.

It was true that she was indifferent to everything—the manuscript, her father’s health, the kingdom.

He even thought that, had Gwion been there instead of Maed, she would have been indifferent to him too, and he felt the weight of sorrow in his heart.

‘The consecration has taken the princess’s fierce and lively spirit with it,’ he thought.

How much of all this had to do with Halfdan and the widow?

Narg wondered, and doubted whether he had been wrong to have her taken to the kingdom.

Tregor, the widow and Lerg, the three suspects, gathered in his castle, without him and through his own fault.

And, in response, he struck his chest with his fist.

'Bear him unto the throne room until he recovers. Serve him refreshment that he may regain his strength,' Cloet commanded the guards who were supporting Lerg.

'As you command, milord,' Owin complied, and commanded two Ministerians to guide them along the path.

Arwel snorted and clenched his jaw, but even as he was about to protest, Gregor, desiring to restore calm, laid a hand upon Arwel’s breast to hold him back, and signalled with a glance that Cloet was observing them whilst escorting his father.

Tregor had not stirred from the dungeon; Gwion confirmed this upon his return.

Cheas espied his bleeding knuckles and, without uttering a word, they exchanged glances.

Cheas rebuked him with a shake of his head and a frown, but the young man merely deigned to shrug.

Aye, he had made sure Tregor could not cast spells again by shackling his limbs with chains bolted to the wall, but he had also vented his anger, which burned within him, even though Tregor, without losing his smile, offered no resistance.

For the commander was right; he desired to be there; it was surely part of his plan.

Arwel checked that Windar could not see him and signalled to Cheas.

Indeed, he would double the widow’s guard, but he ruled out keeping her locked up alongside such a sorcerer.

It was true, he had seen it; with just a smile, she had stopped the axe before it took her life, but it was better to keep her away from her supposed accomplice.

Cheas comprehended his commander’s gesture and waited until Cloet was out of sight, studying his enviable posture, his chin held high, which made his hair seem even longer, reaching almost to the small of his back.

'What?' Cheas asked Miar curiously as two servants escorted her.

She would be staying in Cheas’s bedchamber, upon the ground floor, hard by the Gerinson brothers’.

'You know, it is curious that you should ask,' she replied, stroking his cheek. 'Whenever you wish, I shall tell you the tale of my favourite sorcerer,' she added with a sigh, and slipped down the corridor that would lead her to rest.

Narg halted abruptly, and with him, the echo of his boot heels.

Silence fell over the entire library, save for the clamour within his mind.

The raven—the one that had flown overhead upon their arrival in the kingdom—had surely been a messenger, and the hairs upon the back of his neck stood on end.

A traitor among them, but whom had he warned?

Windar? Lerg, so that he might take advantage of his absence?

And as he glanced sideways at Pelit, he sought a way to warn his warriors.