The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

What would be the purpose of the orchard?” His lip twisted into a sneer. “It would cumber the ground. It would waste its potential. How many seasons, how many years would a gardener give it before deciding there was no hope left. Eh? How many seasons of ill fruit before the gardener shook his head and cut down the trees? The gardener is patient. But when none of the fruit is sweet . . .” He shook his head sadly. “Firewood. That is all the grove would be good for. And so culling must happen to save the orchard. This is the way of things. As Andrew eventually came to accept.”

Myrddin bowed his head reverently. His voice was soft. “Andrew married again,” he said. “After his first wife was dead, he married the ruler of this sanctuary, who was a widow herself, the daughter of a king. They had children, even in their old age. They were mighty children. All Fountain-blessed. They produced generations of stalwart rulers who founded their own kingdoms. They were stronger than the inhabitants of this land and began to rule them. The Dochte Mandar—whom you know as the Mandaryn—hunted this family. Be wary. They will sense that you are not of this world too. Now go and reclaim your father, little sister. Ere he is destroyed along with the others when the flames come.”

“What about the book?” Trynne asked. “Where is the book that caused this evil? Does Morwenna have it?”

He shook his head. “You cannot touch that book, little sister, without falling under its thrall. It destroys whoever touches it.”

“But surely it must be destroyed!” Trynne said.

Myrddin shook his head. “One cannot destroy evil, little sister. It can only be bound for a season. It plants its seeds the moment we stop fighting against it. I have told you enough. Now you must go.

But I will give you both a Gifting from the Fountain ere you depart.”



As they left the ruins of the village and sanctuary, Trynne could sense the Fountain magic behind them. The feeling faded with distance, and the serenity and peacefulness she had experienced in that place faded, replaced by ominous thoughts and feelings of dread. She was grateful for the lingering comfort of Myrddin’s Gifting.

Before parting ways with them, he’d bestowed to each a spell that would linger with them throughout their journey. To Fallon, he had given the Gift of Xenoglossia, which bestowed the ability to speak and understand languages. To Trynne, who could bestow that ability on herself, he had given a blessing of strength and fortitude and increased insight to be able to hear the Fountain’s whispers, even when she was in desolate places.

One such place was the main road, which was choked, overgrown, and abandoned. It was obvious that years had passed since any wagons or horses had come this way. There was no sign of inhabitants anywhere. No telltale plumes of smoke from distant chimneys. The forest was full of black, mossy oak trees, and it crowded in on both sides, leaving them with but a tunnel to pass through. Within a few years, Trynne could tell, even the tunnel would revert to fenlands. She and Fallon trampled along the path, skirting budding trees that were beginning to fill the void.

“What do you think about what Myrddin said?” Trynne asked him. Their pace was strong. They’d packed food for several days, thankfully, so they wouldn’t need to stop and forage.

“About what part? He said a lot.” Fallon swatted a mosquito that was hovering over Trynne’s ear. She flinched and scowled at the insect.

“Well, what parts stood out to you?” she persisted.

Fallon rubbed his mouth. “I didn’t know that King Andrew had offspring in this world. Think of that, Trynne. The Argentine dynasty is only five hundred years old. King Andrew lived a thousand years ago. That’s a lot of history. How much did Andrew influence this world? It’s humbling to even think on it.”

Trynne gave him a probing look. “Did you know Myrddin would be here when we arrived?”

“How could I know that, Trynne?”

“Well, he kept talking about the rules and things that governed the portals, looking at you as he talked. It almost felt like the two of you had spoken before. Is that true?”

He shook his head and held up his hands. “I didn’t know he would be here, and no, I did not arrange that little discussion. I feared he would try to talk us out of attempting to rescue your father, and I wasn’t going to sit still for that. We came all this way for a reason.” Staring into her eyes, his gaze intent, he said, “Your father is coming back. I promise you he will.”

“Don’t make promises, Fallon,” she said. “We will both try. But there is a lot of ground to cover and we have no horses. It won’t be easy.”

“No, I don’t imagine it will be. One of the things I learned from Morwenna is that she promised Dragan he would be allowed to come to this world. He was eager for it. The laws are crumbling in this place. There is no trust. The kings look after their own self-interest, and the nobles squabble among—”

There were loud cracking sounds in the woods on either side of them. Fallon stopped talking, but they did not slow their stride. Dark shapes began to emerge from behind the trees on both sides of the road. Fallon halted, sizing up the situation. Trynne followed suit.

“What do I see?” said one of the rabble. The man was wearing mismatched leather armor and holding a crossbow. His tunic was muddy and ripped, the once-white fabric a dingy gray, and the brown-and-red cross-shaped design in tatters.

“I think we caught us another pair of mastons,” said another man in a dangerous tone. The word was said with such contempt and hate, it filled Trynne with unease.

“They’re not the first we’ve caught,” the first said, leering at her.

“And they’ll meet the same fate as the others.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Hunted


Trynne heard the subtle noise of grating metal as Fallon drew his sword. She quickly followed suit, crossing her arms and drawing both of her blades.

“Oh, ho ho!” one of the brigands crooned. “They have some fight in them! Most start babbling and sniveling before they die.”

Fallon pitched his voice low for her. “Do you want to take the ones on the right?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But let them attack first.” Her magic was strongest when she was acting in defense. There were at least a dozen men coming at them, and a few more were ghosting through the trees. If they remained still for too long, they’d be boxed in.

Fallon flourished his blade, cutting two sharp circles through the air. “I anticipate some blood, lads. Ours or yours is the question.”

The grimy-faced attackers continued to converge. “He’s got a mouth on him. Bold as a rooster. Pluck him, then. Now!”

The man with the crossbow hefted it to his shoulder, aiming at Fallon first. Trynne stepped forward, putting herself in the line of fire.

The crossbow twanged and time seemed to turn sluggish. She saw the shaft streaking toward her, then arced her blade to intercept it,

deflecting it off its course. It struck an oak tree with a loud thunk. The marauders raised their battered weapons in stunned surprise. The swords all had nicks and dents and clearly hadn’t touched a whetstone in ages. The men shuffled forward and roared in challenge, attacking as a mass.

Trynne lunged forward, ducked the first swipe at her neck, and scissored her blades in front of her, slashing her assailant’s armor open and following up with a swipe of her boot to send him crashing down. Her training with Captain Staeli rushed into her mind, along with the memories and experiences of Oath Maidens from the past.

She’d defeated greater odds than this. She and Fallon fought back-to-back, protecting each other from the onslaught.

Fallon smashed the pommel of his sword into a man’s skull, dropping him like a stone. Every now and then, there was enough of a lull in her own battle for her to glance back at him. He’d proven himself more than a match for his foes. There was a graceful elegance in his attack, the sign of a man who had trained in his craft for years. But he was also not afraid to use brute force when the need arose. She watched as he stomped on a man’s boot and then cocked the brigand’s head back with an elbow strike that literally sent him spinning into the grass.

Trynne used both her weapons equally, cutting at wrists and hands to disarm rather than slay her opponents. They were bumbling fools, accustomed to winning through sheer force of numbers.

“Flee!”