The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

Taste it.”

Trynne realized she’d stopped with an apple midway to her mouth. She’d realized, at the last moment, that she recognized these particular apples. Many, many years ago, Myrddin had given an apple like that to her brother in the audience hall of Kingfountain.

The memory of how much little Gannon had enjoyed the fruit knifed into her, but she obeyed the Wizr and bit into the apple. The sweetness was muted by the memory.

Myrddin gave her a sympathetic look that revealed he was aware of her suffering. “You eat one too, pethet. It will give you strength for your journey.”

Trynne handed an apple to Fallon and he took it from her. He paused, smelling it first, and then bit into it. His face practically beamed with enjoyment. “Sweet and tart,” he said with approval.

“There. Now you are both eating and cannot pester me with questions. This is good. I will say what I can say. No more. No less. I am a Wayfarer. A traveler between worlds. I have advised kings and shepherdesses and many other folk for long and sundry years.

There are rules that separate the worlds from one another. And you are here now because your father was brought hostage here.” He gave Trynne an arch look.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked desperately.

“Eat! Let me speak! I will say what I can.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Always so many questions. Your father is in this world, but he is not nearby. He was taken far away and locked in a dungeon.

You will go there, little sister. You will see it. It was the Fountain’s will that he should come. He cannot remember your world, but he serves the Fountain’s purposes. There are rules, as I said. Rules that separate the worlds. You must acknowledge this or turn back at once.”

His gaze turned to Fallon.

“Ach. I see now. I see.”

Fallon’s eyes blazed with sudden anger.

“I will say nothing more on that. I see it clearly. I did not create the rules, mind. Even I must abide by them. I was trapped in this world for many centuries, little sister. I was trapped here because of a woman. The portal was shut until your father and the king returned to open it. It is not the only portal. There are others like it. The Black Wizr knew all about it. Yes, the Black. My enemy.”

“Rucrius?” Trynne asked.

Myrddin puckered his lips. “No. The Black Wizr has another name. An ancient one. Shirikant.” He said the name like a curse, his cheek muscles twitching with revulsion. “His power was bound to a book. You call it The Hidden Vulgate. It is an unholy and evil creation. This is the book that the king’s sister found. Always it hides in shadow. It cannot be destroyed. It is more ancient than this world.

It is the fullness of evil.”

Trynne shuddered. “Morwenna found it while studying in Pisan.”

“Yes, little sister. It is what has corrupted her. What has corrupted so many others from the beginning. If allowed, it will destroy Kingfountain just as it has destroyed this realm. It is the evil of pride. Of greed. Those emotions are what drive us to revenge, and revenge is never satisfied. There is no sating it.”

His words sparked a memory in her mind, something Rucrius had told her when she’d bound him in a cell in Ploemeur. You’ve shied away from the truth, but you’ll find that revenge endures forever.

Myrddin nodded to her. “The lips may be a man’s. The words may be a woman’s. But the thoughts belong to the one who sat on the forsaken throne. The one who gave up all wisdom and power because of ambition and revenge.” He shook his head. “Morwenna is but a tool. Her grief, her loss has driven her to hatred. The book was here in this world. I have watched it destroy other kingdoms. I am watching it destroy these last two. It was moved to your world, which will suffer the same fate unless you stop it.”

“What must we do?” Trynne asked in desperation.

“Save your father, lass,” Myrddin said. “This world is too far gone to survive, and he will perish with the others unless he leaves now. Take out the Wizr board and I will show you what it means.

Hurry, pethet! There are two kings clashing. Every inhabitant of their kingdoms will be destroyed in one great battle. All save one. One of the two kings will live. Your father is serving one of those kings. I must write the ending. It is my task. Yours is to take him away and return home before the end comes. Lo, it comes quickly!”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Bearden Muir


Fallon twisted the key in the lock, making a little snick sound, and then opened the lid of the Wizr board. The setup had indeed changed, the pieces much sparser and in a new configuration. The black and white kings were on opposite sides of the board.

“Your father,” Myrddin said, pointing to the white knight on the board next to the white king. The board was nearly devoid of pieces, mostly little pawns. But there were two queen pieces on the board, both positioned near the kings. “Count the pieces, lass. There are but few left on each side. The final conflict comes. The king of this land, Comoros, prepares his fleet to attack the land of Dahomey.

They come by sea. He summons all of his strength here”—Myrddin’s finger pointed to the black king’s square—“to the east. Only partway across the board, see? A terrible plague ravages his kingdom. The people are dying faster than they can be buried. Every warrior is conscripted for the fight. You will not cross this kingdom without being caught. Men betray one another for coins or favors. Take the main road east and it will bring you to the king’s city, to Comoros. It’s along the way of your journey, before you meet the sea separating you from Dahomey and the cursed shores. Gack, you will smell it before you see it.” His cheek twitched with revulsion. “Your father is across the waters in the next kingdom, there. The board will draw you both toward the last battle. The current is strong. There is no stopping it now. If you stay too long, you will perish with the rest.”

Trynne looked into Myrddin’s eyes. “Can it not be stopped?

Could these kings be persuaded to stop fighting?”

Myrddin arched his brow. “You will see for yourself, lass, ere this is through. Now come, let me show you something else. Be quick.”

He snatched his crooked staff from near the stone desk and hastened toward a tunnel leading deeper into the cave. Fallon gazed back at the golden record, his eyes hungry. “Come, pethet,” Myrddin growled. “We must hurry!”

Trynne gave Fallon an arch look, reproving him with her eyes, and he smiled sheepishly and followed them into the tunnel. The ceiling was so low that both men had to stoop slightly to walk, but it was a comfortable height for Trynne. Myrddin moved at a brisk pace for such an old man, and they both had to struggle to keep up.

His voice boomed back down the hall. “Tunnels that wind and twist,” he cackled. “Tunnels beneath the ruins of an old sanctuary.

Naught but rubble now, but she still bears secrets. Aye, she does.”

“Myrddin,” Trynne called as he took them through dizzying passages. She would never be able to remember the way. “We saw a pile of stones at the bottom of the hill. What were they?”

“Eh? What were what?”

“The pile of stone boxes,” Trynne repeated, increasing her pace.

“Ossuaries,” he answered sharply. “It is the way the dead are buried in this world. The traditions differ from Kingfountain. Almost there. A little farther still.”