The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(33)

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.”

The corridor was illuminated by glowing stones, which lit up upon their approach and then winked out into darkness after they passed them. There was a strange feeling in the air, the ripple of Fountain magic. She felt the sense growing stronger as they drew deeper into the catacombs.

Myrddin paused at a stone boulder blocking the way. He muttered a word that Trynne couldn’t hear and the boulder moved aside just as the one protecting his chamber had done. The opening revealed a set of steps, and Myrddin instantly mounted them, gesturing for them to follow. The stairs ahead were dark. No lights greeted them as they cautiously followed the Wizr, and the boulder ground shut behind them, leaving them in the dark. Fear clung to her like cobwebs.

“Almost . . . just a bit . . .” Myrddin panted. “Let me shove this slab and . . .”

Light pierced their eyes, causing Trynne and Fallon to both reflexively shield their faces. Myrddin had pushed a square stone slab, connected to metal hinges like a trapdoor. The steepness of the steps made her legs burn as she and Fallon followed the Wizr up into the daylight.