The Old Stones
YC 1189
In their hubris, they wield powers they can never understand, and suborn themselves to the whims of those who have abandoned them.
Wari the Younger, Pedagogue of the Mortal Church,First Declarations,YC
While he thought it a preposterous excess of industry and courage, Torin had little grounds to insist that Orn stay behind.Though young, he was a knight of the Mortal Church in his own right.And, as Orn pointed out, he would be needed to identify the fae folk in Fola’s company.
Torin wondered if perhaps the boy were subjecting himself to harm as a way to prove some kind of point.No one doubted his zeal, but—given his unfortunate morphology and all the ignorant prejudice it must have attracted—it seemed that Orn still felt the need to demonstrate it.So it was that the three of them rode out with the punitive army Parwys had gathered.
Though Orn’s wounds were far from fully healed, his virtue of perseverance would keep the pain from debilitating him in a fight.The force Prince Owyn and his loyal counts had gathered—some five hundred mounted knights, two thousand foot, and fifty hand-cannoneers—might serve as a parable of excessive caution.Far more than enough force to quash one rebellious county.It would have been better to ride at speed with fewer soldiers, in Torin’s opinion, and stand a better chance of catching Fola and her little band of faeries and merry troupers on the road.
They left the tree-devil woman in the care of the castle gaolers and the queen regent, who had made one last attempt to join their host that morning while the knights and nobles gathered in the courtyard.
‘You need my guidance in this, Owyn,’ Torin had overheard her say, wielding the virtue of honesty to attend her conversation with the prince at a distance.‘There are powers at play beyond your understanding.Very nearly beyond mine.’
‘What guidance could I need?’the prince had rebuffed.‘If Ifan is guilty, we will execute him and raze his house to the ground.If he is innocent, then so be it.Another answer to the question of the haunting will be found.’
‘Owyn—’
‘You are the queen regent, Mother.Yours is to rule in my stead until I am crowned, yes?That is what I need from you.We will be back within the fortnight for the coronation.’
Medrith had watched them go from the castle balcony, clutching her staff, its leaves budding anew.That she spun plots of her own was obvious.Torin would not distract himself with wondering at them, however.What a horrible little country this was, where mothers and sons schemed against each other.These people needed the enlightenment of the Agion, and swiftly, or they were likely to descend into an orgy of pointless violence.
A thought that cast Torin’s mind back to the gaol cell, the tree-devil woman, and the little shameful thrill he had felt putting a knife in her eye.
The memory of her taunting, after, dampened that thrill.
Just before noon, as they rode east across the fertile plains towards the Windmarsh, a subtle thrum pulsed through Torin.A vibration like the first note of a grand orchestra.His message had reached Templar Unwith, then, whose own messages had spread to waken their agents and prepare the cleansing of Parwys.If he attended to that sensation, he could almost feel lines in the air.Threads of power that bound him to the nine medallions Unwith’s agents had carried to the far reaches of the kingdom, enclosing it within a ritual circle.
One tension drained from him like water; another flowed in to take its place.
‘It is ready, then?’Orn asked, ever observant, though the pain of his injuries showed on his pallid face.
‘Should we need it,’ Torin confirmed.‘And that is all we ought to say.’
Anwe grunted, but grinned.
‘Do not let your readiness for violence become eagerness,’ Torin chided.She only rolled her eyes.
Nonetheless, the knowledge that he held such power was a relief.At a moment’s invocation of the nine Agion, he could burn out the infection that gripped this kingdom, should the need to do so arise.Yet such disruption would invite a chaos perhaps worse than the disease.Civil war, certainly, which might necessitate a crusade, the armies of Tarebach and Alberon sweeping in to restore order.
Better if the cleansing came at Prince Owyn’s request, and the structures of power in the kingdom could be preserved, simply suborned to the Church and elevated to virtue, as they had been in Alberon.A disappointment, of course, for Eurion of Afondir.Torin looked to where the count rode at the head of the column, just behind the prince and his housecarls, as though he were still a loyal servant to the crown.Torin had hoped Owyn might take action against Afondir, but the prince had proven more willing to trust a treasonous subject than a well-meaning foreigner.A product of prejudice that might have been comical if it were not a step on the tragic path towards war.
* * *
The looming branches of the great oak of Bryngodre filled the sky when orders to halt filtered back from Owyn.Foot soldiers put down their packs and began digging for trail rations.The hand-cannoneers set to oiling their guns against the humid air of the Windmarsh.Torin cast about for a decent spot to dismount and stretch his legs.Difficult on the cramped road, and he preferred staying in the saddle to wetting his feet and trousers on the damp marshland.Anwe had already dismounted, loudly announced her need for a piss, and set off to find a hill or a rock to squat behind.Orn eased himself down from the saddle and gently stretched his spine, bracing his hand against his wounded side.
‘Anakriarch!’a messenger called, just as Torin spotted a yet unclaimed bit of raised earth off the road.‘Prince Owyn would see you at the head of the column!’
Torin rode at a slow walk through the milling host towards the prince’s banner—the crowned bear in red, black and gold.Forgard’s warship, Afondir’s gilded tower and Cilbran’s mailed fist fluttered beside it, held a handspan lower in deference.Though—and this may have been only Torin’s imagination—it seemed Afondir’s bannerman kept his a finger’s width higher than the banners of the other counts.
‘Here he is.’Owyn welcomed Torin with a sweeping gesture.‘Now we can proceed.’
‘Your Highness,’ Cilbran said quietly, ‘I do not see why the churchman should witness this.It is sacred—’
‘I hear you, uncle,’ Owyn interrupted.He fixed Torin with a slow, taunting smile.‘But the anakriarch has been so generous in demonstrating his powers to us.It is only fair that he know what magics we command.’
