“My name is Rucrius,” the man said, his accent as impeccable as any native of Ceredigion.
King Drew rose from his chair at the Ring Table, planting his hands on the surface of the polished wood. “We are honored by your visit, Lord Rucrius,” he said, his voice firm despite the shock of the man’s unexpected appearance.
“We have no such titles in my realm,” Rucrius said dismissively. “All pay homage to the Overking. I come at the behest of Gahalatine, my master. Long have our people watched the squabble and bloodshed of these lands. You claw and fight over titles and land like children over sweets. You murder and poison and defame. But you, boy king, have managed to unite the realms, a feat that has not been done in centuries. Still, it will not last. You are ill-tempered children in need of a master.” His voice lowered into a threatening tone. “My master bade me to tell you that he is coming. He challenges you for the right to wear the hollow crown. We will prove our cause with our blades and with our wills. Willingly have the rulers of Chandigarl knelt to their new sovereign. And so will you kneel as well. Gahalatine will conquer these lands and place true men and women as his vassals to rule in his name. You have little time to prepare for him. Behold, he comes swiftly.”
The room was quiet save for the mutter from the torches.
Rucrius straightened even more, bringing up his chin slightly. “In these petulant lands, honor is broken on a whim. My master speaks only the truth. To prove my words, I give you two signs. The game you have played for centuries to teach your rulers humility and discipline has ended.” Rucrius lifted his staff and then thumped it on the tiles. There was a cracking noise, louder than thunder, and Trynne felt as if someone had stabbed her. The tile beneath the staff was broken, but something told her that wasn’t all . . . She had the notion that the ancient Wizr set hidden in the fountain waters had been broken in two.
“Second,” Rucrius said forcefully, “your predecessor defied the rites of sanctuary. They will no longer protect you from the Deep Fathoms. Anemoi!”
It was a word of power. Trynne felt it jar her soul, and suddenly a keening wind began to howl outside the palace.
Ordinary people have an unlimited capacity for doing harm. What they do not see is they also have an unlimited power for doing good. In my long, weary travels, I have often seen the Powers choose the most undeserving of wretches for works that profit the most people. A peasant girl to fight a war. A child too timid to speak. A foundling abandoned at a sanctuary. In this way, the noble and powerful are forced to eat the sour crust of humility. The only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing.
Myrddin
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Flooding of Kingfountain
The keening wind outside the castle turned into a hurricane. Screams began to echo through the palace. The Wizr of Chandigarl stood there smugly, absorbing the chaos his spell had caused. There was the clatter and smash of crockery breaking. The king’s herald, a man named Silas Meeks, burst into the throne room.
“My lord!” he shouted with raw terror in his eyes. “The river is turning!”
“The river?” Genevieve gasped.
“Aye, my lady! The wind is blowing the river backward. The falls have stopped!”
It was unimaginable. All of her life, Trynne had seen the mighty waterfall thundering next to the palace. With a word of power, the Wizr had turned its course.
“Lord Owen, arrest him!” King Drew said with a firm, angry voice. The king’s eyes were like daggers. He stood, planting his fists on the Ring Table, and glared at the intruder.
Trynne’s heart leaped within her bosom, driven to a frantic pace by utter fear. Was this the moment that her mother had seen in her vision? Wasn’t there supposed to be a battle? The fury of the wind shrieked through the castle like a host of untamed spirits. Owen drew his sword and advanced on the Wizr.
Rucrius cast a disdainful look at him. The scarab-like ring on his finger pulsed and glowed blue.
“I will stay until my message is fulfilled,” Rucrius said archly.
“Then you will stay in the dungeon,” Owen pronounced. He gestured for Kevan, and the two men advanced. Suddenly Kevan went rigid and froze in place, his eyes wide with panic. He couldn’t move.
The Wizr’s lip curled into a sneer. But Owen continued to approach him.
The ring on the Wizr’s hand flashed a second time. Trynne felt the rush of Fountain magic as it tried to engulf her father, but it passed harmlessly away from him. Owen increased his pace and lifted his sword.
“Kneel!” the Wizr commanded, stretching out his staff. The orb nested in the top sparked to life, projecting a blinding shaft of light. There were cries of terror, and the people in the room cringed. Trynne watched through the sun-bright radiance as her father rushed the Wizr and swung the sword around in an arc, aiming for the Wizr’s neck.