XXI – Compendium of a Legend #3

Halfdan hath sent me a locating spell. Now that I possess the dagger, I shall be able to use it, for both belong to Tyr and are wrought from the same substance. Yet I cannot achieve this alone; it requireth two folk: one to cast the spell and another to follow the signal.

I have sought to instruct Cheas. Given how singular he is, it would suffice for him simply to wish it, but he is, naturally, more interested in the knives used in the ritual than in the ritual itself.

I shall endeavour to carry it out with Tros; he possesseth all that a sorcerer of light ought to have.

Only as a last resort would I ask Owin for aid; he hath shown innate talent and is brimming with interest, though there is a certain darkness in him that giveth me pause. '

Cheas turned the page and, to his disappointment, found nothing.

He moved on to the next page, and then the next, but all of them, right to the end, were blank.

That paragraph was the last thing Maltón had managed to record to guide them.

'Did he ever imagine that it would be me who would follow in his footsteps? ' he thought, and raised his head.

Before the hearth, Cloet stood motionless, his waistcoat half-fastened, a sheet of paper in his hands, his gaze fixed upon Gwion. It was clear to Cheas that, after snorting, whilst he concealed the dagger beneath his garb, he closed his eyes and commended himself unto Odín’s care.

The torches upon every column in the hall were lit, and the elite troop, led by Arwel, entered to find Lerg seated upon the throne with Windar at his right hand.

As they drew near, the commander studied the scene with narrowed eyes.

The King of Welst appeared to be in better spirits and he even saw him drinking from Narg’s wine cup, though he noted that his hand was bandaged and stained with blood.

He endeavoured, yet could not call to mind Tregor having wounded him beyond suffocation.

His sky-blue eyes flashed with fury and, whilst feigning an adjustment of his cloak, he grasped the hilt, but at that moment Lerg stood up.

'Old Minister is under my authority from this moment until resolution is reached regarding what hath transpired,' he said firmly, and before they could react, he continued: 'Let us be diplomatic and shed no blood needlessly.

The realm belongeth by right to the heirs of Alfredo.

Narg is absent; therefore I'—he struck his chest—'and none but I, take command by lawful claim. '

The elite warriors drew their swords, but it was not merely the rasp of five blades drawn. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves surrounded by the army of their own kingdom.

Arwel clenched his teeth. Had it been another squad, he would undoubtedly have given the order and, without a second thought, they would have leapt forward to die fighting.

But these were his men, his boys, the lives that depended on his decisions on the battlefield, the ones he had trained and prepared to kill.

His warriors, his ravens, were pointing their blades at him, and he felt as though each of those swords were piercing his heart.

He scanned their faces until he made eye contact with one of them and felt the sorrow reflected there.

'I am sorry, commander, it is the grandmother queen’s order.'

They turned towards Windar, and then they knew. She sat there, stoic, a faint smile playing on her thin, wrinkled lips.

'Ye shall be arrested for conspiracy against the crown. If Narg doth not return by this afternoon, I shall have ye executed in the midst of the square in a public ceremony for treason,' quoth Windar.

Windar rose to whisper something in her nephew’s ear.

'Owin Frylson?' he asked, and his comrades turned to see him take a step forward. 'You are excused by my aunt as the most loyal; you may withdraw.'

'I am loyal to Narg, aye,' he said, lifting his chin.

His fine, long, black hair swept back from his face, revealing the thin scar upon his cheek. He bent his knee slowly, lifted his feet, but instead of stepping forward, he stood back up beside Gregor.

'But I am also loyal to my comrades. I would walk through fire for them, if needs be.'

'As you wish,' he said, and signalled to the soldiers. 'Take them to the sorceress.'

They raised their hands aloft whilst the soldiers disarmed them and took their belts.

Out of respect, they were permitted to retain their cloaks, but their breastplates and chainmail were stripped away.

And so, with five hours to go before dawn, in single file, escorted by the entire battalion, they departed the throne room, crossed the dining hall and reached the stairs.

Cloet watched them pass, his shoulder resting against the stone archway. One by one they climbed the stairs, unaware of where they were being led, until Cheas broke ranks to approach the prince.

'You will know what to do,' he said, his honey-coloured eyes glazed over as they met Cloet’s, and placed Maltón’s diary in his hands before the soldier compelled him to proceed.