"I think you should ask your father for it," the priestess stated.
    "I shall leave that decision up to His Majesty."
    "Did anyone come by looking for us?" Conner wanted to know. "Sharp, angular features, sort of Fae-like?"
    "No." Artos looked perplexed.
    "He went north," I reminded him.
    "No, the people for the.... job interview."
    "No, nobody's been by like that," the man assured him.
    "Considering how much Rhonwen is trying to foist this all of on you, maybe we should give her the crown and the sword and let her conduct the job interviews," Meara suggested mischievously.
    "I like Rhonwen," I informed her. "Okay?"
    Conner for his part thought we should give them to the knocker, an.... interesting idea.
    We chatted with Artos a bit more, informed him about the return of the faerie mounds and Wynn's escape.
    "You think he's coming back?"
    "Not if we kill him first," I said serenely, though given what we'd just seen him do I had very little hope of actually being able to do that. Had to try, of course.
    "Good plan."
    "If we set up residence here, he's likely to return," Meara said. "I think at the moment we're sort of on his 'I think I'll kill them painlessly' list."
    "Oh, I don't think anyone's on that list," I muttered.
    "He doesn't seem to be a big fan of painlessly," Conner agreed.
    "Well, he didn't actually kill us," she pointed out.
    "He had more important things to worry about," I countered.
    "He could have had a little pre-party bash."
    "Well, he did try to drop a chandelier on us," Conner muttered.
    "I think I'll tell my wife that you're all back, we'll get dinner started," the big man said.
    "We'll be leaving in the morning," I told him.
    I got a lot of fish-eyed looks. Meara wondered politely, "Do we really want to travel north in the dead of winter?"
    "It's not winter yet. Do you want to leave Wynn with lots of breathing room?"
    There was no more argument; we trooped back to the house and sorted through the accumulated mail. Conner had a reminder to pay his guild dues, Gannon letters from his parents and the new tax codes, including the new field for reporting miscellaneous magical disasters. My father approved Meara's idea of taking the banner on a tour of the four gates, though a couple of them had dropped out of anyone's knowledge as far as exactly where they were. Deathsgate, where one of my brothers lives, is the only one that sees a lot of action (and does it ever). They had sent a priest of Brigid and another druid, and there were some letters from my family, asking politely about the castle-building effort; mother had sent a number of suggestions on "how to make more money off the place you're taking over."
    "Why does everyone think I'm taking the place over?" I wondered, exasperated.
    "You mean you're not?" Gannon looked up in surprise.
    "We'll see how the castle turns out." Her suggestions were of course excellent; she's good at that. First thing we're going to need is a road. I wrote up a report of our recent adventures and the plan to follow Wynn's trail toward Deathsgate.
    The village killed a cow, and we spent a convivial evening. Llweder conferred with his fellow druid, who was something of a historian and seemed to be doing a splendid job. Meara did the same with the man her order had sent.
    We took a day to rest, resupply, and buy some ponies from the villagers. The vase we'd put on the lead casket had fallen over, but Rite of Kings remained more or less where we'd left it. I included a description in my letter home to see if anyone there knew anything about it. Meara wanted to put it back in the forge rather than leave it in the house if we weren't going to be there for several months.
    "You just like making me carry it," I groused.
    "We could get Artos to help us this time, it might go a little bit easier."
    I had to admit that was sensible, so we moved it down the long stair. Not much had changed in the mind; we dodged the cave troll without any trouble and chatted with the knocker. Meara stopped off to visit Gudrun, who was happy to see her, and updated her on our adventures and what we had learned. We did actually end up leaving the sword and crown with Rhonwen to await their rightful claimants, though we warned her not to try them on and to keep an eye on anyone who spent time around them, which she agreed to do readily.
    "You know," she then fixed me with a glare, "the first thing that happens, you take a throne, you get recognized, and suddenly your father is sending me mail! Forms and paperwork, and how many sheep do you have, and strangely, strangely accurate tallies of what the coasters bring in."
    "I may be able to help you with that, milady," Gannor offered.
    We summed up our immediate objectives and took our leave.
    In the morning we headed north and east for the first of many long, uncomfortable days as the weather grew steadily worse. Our path did not take us through the orc lands, which was just as well. Every morning Conner did his spell; Wynn's direction remained constant.
    "Damn, I forgot to send a letter to my parents," Meara remarked two days out.
    "You have a habit of doing that."
    While the human world began shutting itself up for the winter, the Fae continued to creep back into the land in an untimely return to life that made the journey less desolate than it might have seemed. It was cold and wet and it only got more so, and the only bright spot in it all was that nothing attacked us on the journey, because nothing else was stupid enough to be moving about at this time of year.
    After six weeks of traveling we crested a rise and found ourselves looking down into a grey, steep-sided valley with a large, ugly fortress at the bottom.
    "Nice place," I said, looking down at it.
    "You're delusional," Conner muttered.
    "You keep saying that....."
    "Who puts a keep at the bottom of a valley?" Meara wondered. As we started down, it became clear that nothing of any size could be brought down the laughable excuse for a path to attack the place. Griffin was very unhappy with me. It's been thirty years since anyone invaded this place—right after my parents got married. They had gotten a bit.... upset at the interruption of their honeymoon.
    Once we made it down the valley wall, we did a Wynn check; still north and east.
    We were of course seen well before we got anywhere near the actual keep, and greeted at the gate with a, "What the hell are you doing here this time of year? Your Highness."
    "She's a Rhys, she gets bored sitting still," Meara told the garrison captain.
    "She's on a tour of all of the gates carrying the royal standard," Conner added. If I kept these two around it's possible I would never have to answer a question myself again.
    "You couldn't invade someplace warm?"
    "It's on the way back," Meara told him. "I don't suppose you have warm food in that castle?"
    They opened a sally port, and we crowded through. Most castles in Powys, being lived in as well as used for defense, are rather homey places with a somewhat welcoming feel. Approaching Deathsgate, there was the distinct impression that the place existed solely to kill you. Once you got inside, it changed its mind only insofar as it then wanted to spend your life to kill anyone trying to get in. It reacted subtly to the presence of the banner, nothing warmer than an acknowledgement but it was something.
         

| Top |