Read Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy Online

Authors: Ethan Risso

Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (56 page)

BOOK: Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy

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“Cairbre is right,” she said. “It is only with their own convenience that they approach us.”

“But‌—‌”

“We have other matters to discuss, however.”

“Tell me…” Connor cleared his throat. “Tell me what happened at Arlais.”

Ceridwen placed her clasped hands on the table with a heavy, lingering breath. “I had such terrible dreams‌—‌haunting dreams, after you left for Helygen. Silent dreams, filled with darkness and shadow. I drew upon my training to reach out, to sift through the fog and find the truth.”

“That is how you escaped the massacre?” Connor reached out and grasped her hands in his.

“No‌—‌well, yes, but not in time.” Ceridwen pulled her hands away and stood, pacing about the room. She quickly said some things in the old tongue, which Connor could not understand. “I woke that night. I could not save them‌—‌”

“But, Ceridwen, you did save them. If you had not intervened, Annwyd would have killed all of your people.”

Anger flared in her eyes, and Connor felt ice fill his veins. “Not Annwyd. The soldiers carried the banners of Cærwyn alone‌—‌the banners of your brother. It was Rhodri’s forces who descended upon the forest, not Madoc’s. It would seem he no longer cares for the safety of our people.” Ceridwen’s willowy body trembled in an unseen wind.

Cairbre slammed his fist on the table. “He would have had us all dead at the hands of his men.”

“Our soldiers, with Heid Ivatholl’s forces, are locked in battle with Madoc’s on the eastern fold of the Brynlands.” Ceridwen motioned to the east, as though the very landscape would sprawl out beneath her hand. “If it were not for this distraction, Rhodri’s forces would never have been able to break through the forest.”

A wide range of emotions flooded his heart, but he contained them within. Rage, sadness, fear, confusion. Who exactly was Rhodri? Had he ever really known his brother? What Bronwen had told him in Helygen was true. “If even those who were our allies turn against us‌—‌”

“All hope is not lost,” Ceridwen said, sitting on the bench beside him and clutching his hand. “We cannot win, not on the battlefield. But…” Her gaze took on a sinister form, and, for but a moment, Connor saw the visage of the Morrígan, with her bloodthirsty eyes before him.

“Then where?” he asked.

“We must cripple them from within.” She loomed over him, growing taller with her words. “An army without a leash is of no consequence.”

His brow furrowed. “What is it you speak of?”

Cairbre leaned on the table. “The king has not only outlived his usefulness, but is now a detriment to us all.”

“Rhodri has committed a most heinous crime‌—‌a crime for which he must answer.”

Connor’s gaze darted back to Ceridwen. He felt like some small animal in a hunter’s trap. The venom dripping from her words chilled his very core.

“There is naught any can do, save one: you. You must do what needs to be done, for the benefit of us all‌—‌for the benefit of your people. You are the Hierophant of Arlais. You have a duty to our people to see justice done!” Ceridwen’s voice boomed throughout the roundhouse. “You must go to Cærwyn, to Rhodri. His son is a weak child. With Rhodri eliminated, it is you who would sit on the throne as High King.”

“Kill my brother‌—‌my king?” He jerked his hand away from hers.

“You serve no king! When you took your vows, you swore fealty to none but the God and Goddess.”

Connor stood from the bench and turned away from her for a moment before spinning on his heel. “You would have me martyr my soul to satisfy your ambition!”

“You would prefer relentless subjugation to a seat of power?”

“I cannot‌—‌will not!” Connor turned from her and, before he realized what he was doing, he had rushed from the roundhouse onto the street. He felt the eyes of the crowd on them both as bodies shuffled aside, forming a circle around him and Ceridwen, Cairbre just behind her.

She was silent for a time, and the only sound was the muttering among those in the shocked crowd. Connor’s eyes remained locked on her, but he hoped Gawain or Sawyl was nearby.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of confidence well up within himself, and his anger erupted. “I am always dreaming, even in my waking hours. It never ends. Tell me, Ceridwen, how do I send these dreams, these illusions, from my mind? I am finding it harder to distinguish these dreams from the real world. So, tell me, for all your knowledge of the world, you truly know of no cure? Or, perhaps, you wish me to play the puppet whilst Cairbre twists my dreams to fit his will?” His face trembled, but he refused to allow his tears to spring forth.

Ceridwen drew back, and Connor knew he had startled her with his words. Her surprise was short-lived, however. “You swore your fealty to the Goddess, you must obey me.” She spoke with the calm, stone voice of a priestess who would let the very sky fall down upon her before she let her emotions appear.

Though Connor had similar training, he did not condescend to keep his emotions under control. “You speak not for the Goddess, but your own ambition! You said yourself I swore fealty to none but the God and Goddess.”

Her eyes turned dark. “What you speak is blasphemy‌—‌”

“I swore my vows to Her, not you. You wish of me to murder my own brother.” He thrust his finger at her. “If you want it done, do so yourself! I will not be your pawn to carry out such an act!”

Her face softened, and she reached out to him. “Child, you do not understand the truths of this world.”

“Fuck your truths!” he shouted, no longer caring if he drew the attention of those around them. “May you choke on them!”

“Take care to curse me as such, Connor. Such words have their way of returning to you when you least like them.”

“Curse you?” Connor managed a small laugh. “I thought nothing of it. I am not so wicked as to lay a curse upon one I love. I do not know if the same can be said of you.” He grabbed the torque from his neck and held it in his fist, white-knuckled. “You wish of me to take station as that of Hierophant of Arlais?”

“Connor, what madness is this?” She came toward him, hand outstretched.

“I am not the Hierophant of Arlais! Arlais is gone!” He threw the torque into the dirt, and the awed voices of the crowd rose up around him. “I will play puppet to neither you nor Cairbre.”

All the softness from her face and voice left as she took another step toward him. “Connor‌—‌”

“I renounce you, Ceridwen.” His voice rose high and proud, silencing the crowd. “I renounce you and Arlais. May the Gods show you the same kindness you have shown to me.”

Without another word, Connor turned from her and walked away. He heard the din of the crowd grow as she called out for him, but he did not turn back. He stared dead ahead as the crowd parted around him, and he began to unfasten the clasps on his robes. As he walked, he let the heavy brocade fall to the ground behind him until he remained only in his plain, linen underrobes.

His pace quickened into a run, and he sprinted through the streets beyond the last reach of the houses into the forest. His heart pounded in his ears like war drums, and he collapsed near a tree. He slid down to the ground and sat against the trunk, wrapping his arms around his knees.

In the silent forest, only the sound of his heart and his breathing accompanied him. The pain in his head grew with each throb in his ears, and he grit his teeth. He did not know how long he sat there, praying that the pain would leave him. Beyond the darkness, he felt himself flying.

With a white hot flash, he was soaring over Dweömer. The remains of the Hwerydh, the plains, the Brynlands‌—‌it all stretched out beneath him. Smoke rose from the battlefield near the borders of Annwyd.

A raven cried out overhead.

“Away with you!” he shouted, opening his eyes to see the forest once more.

“Well, that was quite a spectacle, if I do say so myself.” Sawyl’s ever-cheerful voice crept up from behind him. “They will be talking of such a sight for years to come.”

“You heard me, Sawyl.” Connor turned to him. “I am no longer the Hierophant of Arlais. You have no duty to me.”

Sawyl shrugged. “I figure it will be plenty boring around here without the likes of you. After all, how would I ever manage to get through the day without washing your underclothes?”

Connor cracked a smile, unable to contain it.

“Where will you go?” he asked, sobering.

“A very good question, indeed.” Gawain emerged with Viðófnir at his side. “And what is your answer?”

Connor stood. “There is an island, near Īeg Searian. One of the Vættir lives there.”

“The Lady Rhiannon was not the last?”

“Apparently not.” He shook his head. “If there are any answers for what afflicts me, I shall find them from him.”

“I would accompany you on this journey,” Gawain said, stepping forward and taking to his knee. “If I might help you bear such burden, allow me.”

Connor wondered for a moment if Gawain should not abandon his station, but the irony of such a thought was not lost on him. “I would be happy to have you at my side.”

“Oi!” Sawyl crossed his arms. “You are not expecting to leave me behind.”

Connor gave him a half-hearted smile. “You have been most faithful, Sawyl, but I cannot ask you to come with me. You would be leaving behind everything you know. They would cast you out as a priest.”

Sawyl quietly eyed the ground for several moments. He looked back up, face beaming. “Oh, yes, and what would you do without me? Knowing you, you will be even more bloodied up by the time you reached the eastern shores than you have been in the entirety of your time at Arlais. After all, your arse isn’t as holy anymore.”

Connor laughed. “Then I would have you at my side as well.”

Gawain and Sawyl eagerly began preparations for the journey. Connor looked toward the light from Llaenydre reflecting off the low-hanging clouds in the night’s sky. Perhaps one day he might forgive her, but that day was not this day.

He turned his back toward the village. “Let us make haste!”

COLOPHON

This book was designed by the author,
Ethan Risso
.

The text face of the paperback and hardcover version is Minion Pro Medium, designed by Robert Slimbach. The typeface is an enlargement of Slimbach’s original Minion type, published by Adobe Systems in Mountain View, California, in 1989.

The display face, including book cover and title page, is Requiem, originally designed by Jonathan Hoefler for
Travel & Leisure
in 1992.

Cover illustration is a digital painting by
Andrew Ryan
, commissioned for the first edition of the book and completed in 2014.

Frontispiece illustration drawn by the author.

Cartographic illustration featured in the paperback and hardcover versions was hand drawn by Tony Mullins, commissioned for the first edition of the first book in 2012. The map’s type is set in three faces: Northumbria by David Kerkhoff, 825 Karolus by Gilles Le Corre, and Agedage Simple Versal by Ryoichi Tsunekawa. Typesetting and additional illustration by the author.

The ebook edition was formatted by
Guido Henkel
for ePub and MOBI formats in 2015.

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