If this was the anchor for all the druids’ magic, would cleansing Parwys even be possible?He might invoke the ritual and scour the kingdom clean, only for heathen magic to sprout once again, like weeds with a deep taproot lingering in the soil.
The columns surrounded a flat-topped stone—a natural altar—which Owyn now approached.
The elder druid positioned himself across the altar from Owyn.‘By what right do you claim this power?’he said, with the practised cadence of ritual.
‘By right as Abal’s heir,’ Owyn said, with the faintest tremble in his voice.
‘A right proven by blood,’ the druid said.
The prince took a flint knife from the altar and made a shallow cut on the back of his arm.A fat, red droplet fell onto the smooth surface of the stone.Or… Torin had thought it smooth.He risked a step closer and felt a redoubling of disquiet.Indeed, the stone was flat as a mirror.Yet the blood flowed in an outward spiral, then into curved branches, as though following the contours of a fine engraving.
As the rivulets of blood reached the edges of the altar, the druid placed his palm in the centre of the spiral pattern.He raised his arm, and the blood reversed its course, flowing back towards the centre.The strands became solid, red-tinged crystal, braiding themselves together as they followed the druid’s hand upwards, becoming the haft and head of a war hammer.Owyn took the hammer by the hilt and drew it away from the stone.
‘Without attuning to the stones, it will be no better than a lump of iron to you,’ the elder druid said through slow, steadying breaths.His skin had grown paler, his face drawn tight.
‘It is more than that,’ Owyn murmured.He hefted the hammer, testing its weight.‘It is a symbol.A reminder to Ifan of who I am and what disloyalty means.’He lowered the weapon and looked to Torin.‘And a reminder to these churchmen that Parwys is an old country, with old powers, and more than able to defend itself—from threats within and without.’
Torin dipped his head, affecting as much calm as he could muster.Yet the prince’s words struck him with weight to rival the hammer in his hand.Old powers indeed, and buried deep in this strange, elusive tower, beyond the reach of virtue.
Perhaps war was inevitable.Perhaps Torin had been too swift to turn on Afondir.If the druids’ magics could not be excised, they would have to be suppressed.Whatever tensions existed between Prince Owyn and his mother, the boy was unlikely to turn on her ways entirely, and certainly not with the ruthlessness required.Better a faithless king loyal to nothing but his own power than one who had been birthed and suckled by a druidess.
With the ritual complete, they followed the younger druid back through the brick hallway and the oaken door out into the open air.Torin had half feared that the power of the cleansing ritual would not return, but it was there the moment he left the impossible dimensions of the tower.He glanced backwards, but nothing had changed.The squat cylinder of green stone and the looming oak tree remained, far too small for the space they contained.
Torin rubbed his horse’s flank and nose, more to comfort himself than the animal, then pulled himself back into the saddle.As he wheeled around to return to Anwe and Orn, Afondir walked his mount past, neither leaning nor looking in Torin’s direction, as though he were passing by mere accident in the churn of men and mounts.
‘You ought make your move sooner than later, churchman,’ he murmured, just loud enough for Torin to hear.‘That weapon is Parwys’s last line of defence, and the blade the king holds over all our necks.’
He rejoined Owyn and the other counts as they rode back to the head of the column.Disgust washed through Torin.Not that he disagreed with Afondir in principle—it would certainly be best to scour the kingdom of magic while the prince’s weapon was outside the protection of the green tower.He had tried so hard to find a way to save this realm from the ambitions of its lords, and now he saw no path forward but to elevate this most distasteful, vicious of men.
When he returned to his place in the column, he found Anwe and Orn in heated conversation.Anwe squatted beside her horse, running a whetstone down the length of her sword, letting its slow, steady rasps punctuate her arguments.
‘We waste time with all this worrying,’ she said.‘The City-witch and the fae child are all that matters.All these affairs of local politics… Well, they’ll matter not a whit in short order, eh?’
Orn, pale and holding his wounded side, snorted in disgust.‘How likely will the people be to embrace the Agion if we plunge their land into civil war?You think with your blade, Anwe.If you had command …’ He trailed off, seeing Torin’s approach, and dipped his head.‘Anakriarch.What news?’
Torin considered the two of them.One wounded and made overly cautious by it, the other’s appetite for blood well whetted by her recent bouts with the City-witch’s mercenary and the tree-devil woman.Imperfect tools, as all but the venerated Agion were imperfect.It was important to keep his own imperfections in mind.His tendency to let compassion overrule, to the point of viciousness.Perhaps better understood as a deficiency of courage.The tremors that still threatened his hands and the hollow fear in his stomach testified to such a weakness.
He said nothing for a time, not trusting himself.It would not do for his fear to infect Orn, nor spur Anwe to brutal, decisive action.When the column resumed its journey he rode in silence into the afternoon, considering, weighing possibilities, occasionally returning his attention to the constant thrum of the cleansing ritual to reassure himself.
It may not purge the druids from the kingdom, but it would cripple Fola at the very least, and would surely burn away the wraiths she had come to bend to the City’s will.
Rebellion
YC 1189
As always, Your Excellence, you pose such fascinating questions.This one, I think, no one could ever hope to answer.All demand justice, but when pressed, few can define it.Blood for blood, a life for a life?Pain returned in kind?But can we collect every drop of spilled blood in measuring cups, to ensure repayment in full, and no more?Have we some definite measure for pain, that we may return to the criminal only as much as he meted out?To say nothing of assigning guilt.Has the starving man who steals a loaf of bread (a strange notion to me, I must admit) committed a crime, or merely exacted his own variety of justice?
Such vengeful thinking merely reduces us all to misery.
Letter from Archivist Tan Semn to Hierophant Adhamha III of Goll,YC1168
Fola had tried to project confidence after the séance, but conjuring up Ynyr’s ghost and confronting the crimes that lay at the foundation of Parwys had left her drained.She spent some time with Siwan, watching Colm run Damon through swordplay drills until the boy’s hands and arms were decorated with fresh bruises.Colm caught her eye and winked, which tempted her to lure him away to their room.But Siwan’s grin while she watched Damon flail his practice sword, his expression grave and his wild hair tied back behind his horns, deterred her.
The girl needed the distraction more than Fola did.So she took a late afternoon meal to her chambers and puzzled over the problems that yet stood between her and the end of the haunting, until Frog’s wheezing snores and the weight of her eyelids lulled her to sleep.
She woke early in the morning to find Colm beside her.She traced the ridges of his shoulder and the canyon of his spine with the tip of her finger.He woke with a shiver and a smile, and things progressed from there.Now that she had the energy for it, Fola wasn’t about to pass up a second round of the best sex she’d had in years—nor a third.The problems of Parwys would wait through the morning.
After, while sunlight slanted through the window and they lay in a haze of pleasure and a perfume of sweat, she marvelled at his scars.Even the stump of his severed arm, which had wept blood only days ago, was now little more than a pinkish weal beneath its bandage.Skin and flesh had grown to seal the edges of Spil’s sutures.One might have believed a proper doctor had been involved from the beginning.
