The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

Trynne sat up, brushing the dirt and crushed leaves from her arms, and tipped her head to look at the oak tree looming over them.

It was the shaggiest, most enormous oak she’d ever seen. The limbs were so thick and laden with boughs they dragged along the ground in some places. A morning breeze flitted through, caressing her cheek, as she gazed up at the canopy—endless tentacles of branches and thick clumps of mistletoe—in awe. Other oak trees were also nearby, but this one was the largest. Huge seeds the size of fruit were scattered amidst the debris. Her ears picked up on the sound of trickling water.

“It’s morning here,” Trynne said. Fallon rose quickly and then reached down to help her up. “I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence.”

Fallon shrugged, stretching his muscles. “It’s quiet. I don’t hear anyone.”

Fountain magic pulled at Trynne, drawing her in the direction of the trickling stream. “There is something that way,” she said, pointing.

He turned and gazed in that direction. “How can you tell?”

“I can sense it. It feels like the grove with the silver bowl.

There’s Fountain magic that way.”

“Then we should go there first,” he said. They started crunching through the dead leaves and twigs. Fallon lowered his hand onto his sword hilt as he walked, leading the way with his long strides. They both stopped at the same time, having seen the fletching and shaft of an arrow sticking out of the debris. Fallon slowed down and cleared away the detritus with his boot, revealing a mangled skeleton. The bones had been scattered haphazardly, as if by wild animals. A few scraps of cloth and chain mail—pierced by the arrow —were all that was left. Fallon looked at her somberly.

“That way,” Trynne said, nodding.

A short while later, they reached a trickling stream at the bottom of a gulley. It was an easy jump, and as soon as they made it across, Trynne felt the tug of the magic leading her alongside the creek. The woods became thinner, exposing a huge mound of moss-covered boulders. No, they were too symmetrical to be boulders.

“What are those?” Fallon asked, pointing to them. They hiked the short distance and discovered a mound of stone boxes in a huge heap. They were rectangular, each one about the span of Trynne’s arms. They were gathered at the foot of an enormous hill that rose high above them.

“What a strange place,” Fallon said, walking around the perimeter of the mound of stone boxes. “Is this where the magic is coming from?”

“No, farther up the hill,” Trynne answered. She walked in the opposite direction, running her hand along the stone. Many were broken to pieces. She could make no sense out of it, but it seemed that they had been pushed down the slope of the hill and had tumbled to the bottom in a heap. She glanced up the trail and saw more oak trees on top of the hill.

“Trynne!”

The urgency of Fallon’s voice made her hasten around the stone debris to join him.

“Look,” he said in wonderment. He was gaping up at the hillside, so she turned to follow his gaze. A series of stone steps was carved into the rock face. It solved the question of how they were going to reach the crest, but she was startled to find several huge boulders suspended in midair partway up the slope. The boulders were not attached to the hill at all, but hung as if by invisible ropes of magic.

“By the Fountain,” Trynne murmured.

They smiled at each other in amazement and then started up the steps. As they climbed, she looked back down at the woods wreathed in fog. The air was chilly but not too cold, and the climb made their breaths quicken.

“At least we won’t have trouble finding that oak tree again,”

Fallon said, pointing to the hulking tree. “It towers over its neighbors.”

As they neared the floating boulders, Trynne’s legs were starting to burn from the effort. The steps grew steeper, and they needed to climb up one of the floating boulders to get to the next spot. Fallon hoisted her up by the waist, allowing her to clamber onto it, and then she leaned over the side and helped pull him up.

“There’s a cave,” Fallon said, nodding in the direction of the hilltop. It was clearly visible from the floating boulder. They exchanged a look full of wonderment and descended from their perch. As they warily approached the cave, it occurred to Trynne that this was much like the cave at the beach in Brythonica. She sensed Fountain magic coming from inside. The floor of the cave was made of dirt and was dusty, with broken boulders holding up a giant mass of stones. A broken face was carved into the boulder at the end of the space.

“Le-ah-eer,” Trynne whispered, invoking the word of power for light. The stone obeyed and began to diffuse the room with a glow.

Fallon gave her a surprised look. Hands on hips, he gazed around at the small cave. “Is this the source of the magic—?” He cut himself off when the engraved boulder suddenly began to slide open.

There was a rustling noise, an impatient huff, and light flooded from behind the boulder, blinding them both. Trynne held up her hand to block the light and reached for one of her swords.

“No need for that, no need for that,” a familiar voice said with a snort. “The Medium told me you were coming. Aye, you didn’t startle me. Tsk, tsk, we are friends.”

“Myrddin?” Trynne asked in astonishment. Her eyes were still adjusting. The last time she’d seen him, he’d left their world for another one more needful of his help— this world.

“Yes, it is I. So the pethet brought you with him, little sister? Of course he did. Come in, come in. If you are hungry, have some food.

Just a little bit, the apples above are all mush now, but I have a few firm ones left. Come along. Come into my cave. You are welcome, even if one of you is a pethet.”

Trynne rejoiced to hear his voice and stepped forward, even though the light was blinding her. The brilliance finally ebbed and she could see Myrddin, dressed in the same cloak and robes he’d worn on the long-ago day he’d guided her through the oaths that had made her an Oath Maiden. He had a sour smell about him, as if he’d eaten too much onion, but she hastily controlled her thoughts, knowing that one of his Fountain gifts was the ability to read the thoughts of others.

“It is Myrddin,” Fallon said with a short chuckle. “And what is a pethet anyway?”

“Bah, leave it to a pethet to ask the wrong question,” the Wizr said with a huff and another snort, waving for them both to enter.

Trynne could tell he had been seated at a stone desk. It was full of strange metal books, the pages made of rectangular sheets of gold with rings set into them. There were heaps of them, some stacked on the floor, some set into stone boxes in the wall. She watched as Fallon gazed at them, his eyes brightening at the sight of so much treasure.

There were strange engraving tools on top of the stone table, along with a curious instrument. There were small metallic shavings all around them. It looked as if Myrddin had been in the midst of engraving when they’d disturbed him.

“Aye, there is much work left to do,” Myrddin said, putting his meaty hand on her shoulder. “Much left to write still. But come, you are guests. I should be gracious even though you have interrupted my work. The apples are over there. They are very sweet. Famous in these parts. Here, take some. They will help sustain you on your journey.”

“Where are we?” Trynne asked, seeing the pottery that held the apples. She was going to hand one to Fallon, but he hadn’t followed her. He was standing over the stone desk, about to lower his head and read from the metal pages.

“I wouldn’t do that, pethet,” Myrddin warned, clucking his tongue.

Fallon straightened. “I’ve never seen its like. What is this?”

“So many questions. So many. Always questions. Bah. How do I know so much that everyone keeps asking me? I ask, seek, and knock. It’s simple. You could do the same, pethet. But I must get back to my work. So I will not answer you now. Eat it, little sister.