Haydon, Elizabeth - Symphony of Ages 08 - The Hollow Queen by Haydon Elizabeth

Author:Haydon, Elizabeth [Haydon, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429942973
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

33

NAVARNE

In the smoldering aftermath of the attack launched against the citadel that carried his father’s name, and his own, Gwydion Navarne left the walled capital city that had been successfully defended, but at a horrific cost in human lives and structural damage, and made his way north to the keep that had been his family’s home.

Once the walled city had been declared safe after the onslaught, a rout that had left the streets behind its wall running red with blood, Gwydion had quietly sought the Patriarch’s blessing to return to Haguefort, where some of the most wonderful and hideous memories of his young life had been made.

When at first he had approached and spoken to Constantin, the Patriarch had been attending to the wounded, applying the power of the Ring of Wisdom that he had been given upon his investiture and his own deep knowledge of healing he had gained, it was said, beyond the Veil of Hoen, the place between life and death. His back had been to Gwydion as the young duke had quietly put forth the request that the Patriarch assume responsibility for the citadel in his stead for a few days while he went to check on Haguefort.

At first the Patriarch had turned, fury in his blue eyes, in angry astonishment to confront Gwydion, vituperative words struggling to break out of his mouth. The casualties of the battle had been enormous, and the work of rebuilding and sustaining the citadel was a heavy burden, expected to be borne by all present.

But upon beholding the young man, his rage had tempered, and the former gladiatorial arena slave had reverted to being the compassionate man of faith he had been since his return from the Veil of Hoen.

He had nodded his assent.

“Do what you must do, young Navarne,” he had said simply. “You have well earned the leave; I will pray that, whatever you find, the All-God will give you the strength to accept it with the gratitude that your province has been largely spared.”

He cast a glance around the streets of the city, broken and blackened, with bodies being stacked in neat rows, and shook his head.

“Perhaps not largely.”

“My thanks,” the duke had said, turning away.

“Remember, m’lord,” said the Patriarch as Gwydion began to take his leave, “that you owe me your time in return for mine. I will await your return three days hence, whereupon I will go and finish the reconnection of the Chain of Prayer. And then I will come and collect you to ride to Sepulvarta, where you have agreed to help me retake my citadel.”

Gwydion had merely nodded.

He had ridden the forest road alone. It was more difficult a passage than he had imagined it would be; the road was the same thoroughfare his mother and aunt had traveled ten years before on their way to purchase a pair of shoes for his baby sister Melisande. It was on this road she had met a grisly death, one of the many acts

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