Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (12 page)

Rodric Gweliwch paced within the bed chambers afforded to him by High King Alric II. Though the moon was high in the sky and the hours of morning approached, he was unable to sleep. What ruler could sleep at times such as this? Alric was probably sound asleep like a babe in his bed. What a pitiful man he was, and yet he was granted rule of the entirety of the kingdom and its provinces. Alric sat on his throne by bloodline, never having proven himself in battle, while Rodric and his valiant men were sequestered to the northern mountains.

The nobles would turn on Alric now. They must. He was lax in his guardianship at the clansmeet, and now dozens were dead. This was the perfect time for Rodric to lay claim to the throne and show that he could lead their people into prosperity. But no, he must lie in wait. He could not appear as an opportunist. He would wait until cries for Alric’s abdication echoed from every corner of Cærwyn and the provinces, and the downfall of the house of Gwalchgwyn was imminent. It was not a time for steel and bloodshed amongst the provinces. They must unite now against this new threat. Were civil war to break out, their forces would be spread too thinly to bolster defenses in the northern mountains against the Gethin.

He pushed aside the window covering and looked out. Servants bustled just below his window, clearing the courtyard. It was useless. He could not sleep now, nor at any time this night.

A strong fist rapped against his door. Rodric immediately drew his sword. “Who goes?”

“My Lord Gweliwch, it is I.”

“Ivor?” Rodric sheathed his sword and opened the door. “What matters have you‌—?”

“Forgive me for leaving my post, Your Dukeship, but it was of urgent necessity. Your wife, the Lady Gwynedd, has given birth to a son.”

“Then he was not still.” Rodric let loose a relieved breath.

“No, he is a healthy bairn. Healthy yet, when I left the province a fortnight past.”

Rodric’s smile soon faded as he considered the repercussions a son of Lady Gwynedd’s own womb would have. For a few moments, he was silent.

“My Lord?”

“That will be all, Ivor.”

Rodric followed Ivor out of his quarters into the hall. He must inform Gawain of these matters.

Gawain was jolted from sleep as Rodric burst into his room. He glanced at the window where he could see the stars still burned bright in the night sky.

“It is not yet daybreak, Father,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Leave me ‘til morning comes.” Gawain rolled back onto his side and pulled the skins further over him.

Rodric could not hide the urgency in his voice, despite his best intentions. “Steward Ivor from Gweliwch has arrived.”

Gawain sat up in bed. “The Gethin?”

“No. He brought news of Gwynedd.”

“Is something amiss?”

“She has born me a son.”

Gawain’s jaw tightened. He could not muster a response.

“Ivor left Gweliwch a fortnight past, so I must depart Cærwyn after the marriage of the king on the morrow.”

A fortnight’s time was quite impressive. It took Gawain’s party nearly a month’s time to reach Cærwyn, though they travelled at a pace far slower than that of Ivor, to be sure.

“And what of your plans to keep watch here at the castle?”

“That is why I have come to you. I need you to be my eyes and my ears here in Castle Cærwyn. I need you to report anything suspicious to me. I have named you steward in my stead, so you have any and all power I would garner in this court.”

“Steward?” Gawain was surprised by his father’s gesture and the power granted to him.

“I fear for our people, Gawain.” Rodric sat at the foot of the bed with a heavy sigh. “I fear, now that the marriage has taken place, we will be forgotten. If the Gethin invade, I fear we will lose the king’s favor, and he will send his forces to shield Annwyd instead of Gweliwch at King Denorheim’s insistence.”

“I hardly think‌—”

“Let me finish.” Gawain could hear his father’s voice crack and was thrown by the emotion in his voice, never having witnessed such a display in all his years. “I fear that the high king is not long for this world.”

“Have you heard something?”

“No, but I can see it when I look at his face. My father looked much the same when his time came and the Grey Lady came to claim him.”

The Grey Lady. Gawain had not heard his father make mention of the deity in years. She was the patron of warriors. She watched over them with her mate, the Scarlet Lord. While he reveled in the blood of battle, she watched with unbiased vision and claimed the souls of the dead to take them to the undying lands in the stars.

“Alric is a just and noble man. He may wish to please his queen, but he will not be ruled by her. I fear he will not live a season’s time.”

“That soon?”

“Duke Helygen is next in line to the throne.”

“And you do not find Rhodri noble?”

“No, he is a good man, but the people would not so easily follow a man with a Meïnir wife and would falter toward Annwyd’s rule.”

Gawain wondered if that was the reason he did not marry his mother. Did he fear that he could not rule the people of Gweliwch if his wife were not Hume?

“When would you take your leave?”

“This very night, with half the men we brought with us. The rest are at your disposal.”

“It would seem that people flee from this castle frequently as of late. First the party from Arlais, Duke Helygen, and now you. All that is left are those from Annwyd, whom I would expect to leave soon as well.”

“Do not be too certain. Braith may wish to make certain his daughter is following his every word before he departs.”

“She seems to have a will of her own‌—‌a strong spirit.”

“A spirit which will be broken in time, I am sure. Braith wants Cærwyn for his own and will not be satisfied with a simple joining of the kingdoms by the marriage of his daughter.”

“I do not know…” Gawain thought back to his time at the castle and what actions he witnessed from King Denorheim. “I did not perceive his motives to be sinister.”

Rodric laughed. “You need to pay more attention. Do you truly think this was for peace?”

“Is it so hard to imagine? Would it be too good to be true for peace to befall the kingdom?”

“It is not as though I would not want peace; although, the idea of it bores me. I do not think I would be satisfied if I never again saw another battlefield.”

Gawain was baffled by his father’s answer. Was his lust for war so great? Perhaps he projected his own feelings onto King Denorheim. Maybe it was his father who wanted war and not Braith after all.

“So then, peace bores you?”

“The calmness of it all. I would rather die in the midst of a bloody battle if they plan anything. It would be such an end, it would be worthy of remembrance.” Gawain noticed the glint in his father’s eye. It was the look of a hunter whose prey was in his sights. “Sword in hand, with a bloodthirsty cry worthy of the Scarlet Lord‌—‌that is how my end shall come. But enough of this talk. I must take my leave.”

Rodric walked toward the door, but stopped to look back at his son. Was he doing the right thing: leaving him to take charge? He could not see another choice. He must leave to attend to his wife, and there was no other on whom he could count. With a son at her disposal, Gwynedd would not allow Gawain to return to Gweliwch, and there would be nothing he could do to stop her.

Rodric reached into his pack and took out a dagger. Finely crafted with an engraved blade and decorative scabbard, it had been a gift from High King Alric I to his father, Duke Kedigor. His father, in turn, gave it to Rodric when he came of age.

“Here.” Rodric tossed the dagger to Gawain. “To bring you good fortune.”

Gawain caught the dagger and looked at it in his hands. He recognized it, of course. How could he not? As long as he could remember, his father carried it with him. It was one of the prized possessions of the Gweliwch treasury, and it was, possibly, the only thing of worth. The implications behind such a gift were immense, and he understood now his father’s thoughts. And he was right. This could be the last time they were to see one another.

“May it give you the strength it gave my father,” Rodric said, his back turned.

“And the strength which it gave mine.”

Rodric left the room and walked down the hall, choking back his emotions. If Gawain were to return to Gweliwch, he would be publicly disgraced, and Rodric would not have that for his son. Though he may have many a bastard out in the world, Gawain was his firstborn son, whom he raised from infancy. With the birth of Drustan, his wife took Gawain’s title from him, but she could not take the title of Steward. It was the only thing he could do for his son now.