work, and should they claim the Razors and Briavel, they will almost certainly turn their attention toward the Wild. With Celimus’s help, Rashlyn will try to destroy the Thicket. The King sighed. We do not wish to engage in such a confrontation.
“What can I do to help, your majesty?” Fynch asked, desperation seeping into his voice.
I grant you permission to use the magic of the Thicket to aid Wyl Thirsk in his bid to rid Morgravia of its king, for without Celimus I do not believe Rashlyn’s madness can be fully unleashed.
Fynch nodded thoughtfully, relief flooding his small body to learn that the Warrior King did not mean to attack Wyl directly. He recognized that the dragon warrior had not offered his own mighty strength or powers, only that of the Thicket. Fynch also knew that the creatures of the Thicket would insist on keeping their secrets. He already felt a part of this mysterious community and knew he would do everything in his power to protect them and their magic.
“Celimus has no heir,” Fynch cautioned, even though he presumed the royal creature knew as much.
Morgravia will survive. Do what you must. Knave is your guide—use his wisdom well, child, and your own powers sparingly. I presume Elysius explained the price you may be required to pay?
Fynch nodded. “He did.”
The King waited, wondering whether the child would expand on his brief answer. A plea for mercy perhaps, a query as to whether his life could somehow be spared. But no further words came. The King beat his wings in appreciation of the boy’s humility; he was prepared to give everything of himself for those he loved and asked for nothing in return.
The warrior dragon’s gaze penetrated deep into Fynch’s heart and he was surprised to see there a startling and precious secret regarding this boy. He had not expected it, butthe discovery warmed him. Should he share it? The child’s life was already forfeit; what could be gained from adding more confusion? The King felt sorrow well up that they would use this boy so. But there was no other way. Fynch was the sacrifice, though it cut him deeply to send his own to die.
Then we remain in your debt, Fynch. The Thicket and its creatures will always hold you in their hearts. We bless you and hold our faith in you with reverence.
There was too much emotion swirling through Fynch for him to risk another word to this mightiest of beasts. Instead he bowed to show his complete acceptance. The royal creature acknowledged it with another powerful flapping of his wings, driving Fynch to the ground as he lifted effortlessly into the air and disappeared.
Roark and Knave were at his side again.
He has not appeared to us in an age, Knave said, the awe still evident in his voice. He came to pay homage only to you, child.
Fynch, overwhelmed by this fateful meeting with the King of the Beasts, was unable to respond. Knave understood and nuzzled his friend’s small hand. Come, Faith Fynch, we have a journey to begin.
4
L OST IN BLEAK THOUGHTS , Q UEEN V ALENTYNA LEANED HER ELBOWS AGAINST THE COOL WHITESTONE OF THE WALKWAY THAT LINKED TWO OF the palace towers. It was her private place, one she rarely shared. The last person she had permitted to spend time with her here was Koreldy, and before him, Fynch. She could not help but think of those two friends now, both lost to her, both keenly missed. With her face cupped in her hands she stared out across the Briavellian moors she loved so much and marveled at a hawk hovering far ahead in the distance, watching patiently as it waited for its prey. Suddenly it plunged, arrow-like, toward the ground, making the Queen breathless for the small creature about to lose its life.
That was how she felt. Vulnerable, and now suddenly exposed and helpless. Celimus of Morgravia was the hawk and she the creature giving up her life to him.
Rumblings of war were filtering back from Briavel’s spies in Morgravia. By all reports, the Legion was
“What can I do to help, your majesty?” Fynch asked, desperation seeping into his voice.
I grant you permission to use the magic of the Thicket to aid Wyl Thirsk in his bid to rid Morgravia of its king, for without Celimus I do not believe Rashlyn’s madness can be fully unleashed.
Fynch nodded thoughtfully, relief flooding his small body to learn that the Warrior King did not mean to attack Wyl directly. He recognized that the dragon warrior had not offered his own mighty strength or powers, only that of the Thicket. Fynch also knew that the creatures of the Thicket would insist on keeping their secrets. He already felt a part of this mysterious community and knew he would do everything in his power to protect them and their magic.
“Celimus has no heir,” Fynch cautioned, even though he presumed the royal creature knew as much.
Morgravia will survive. Do what you must. Knave is your guide—use his wisdom well, child, and your own powers sparingly. I presume Elysius explained the price you may be required to pay?
Fynch nodded. “He did.”
The King waited, wondering whether the child would expand on his brief answer. A plea for mercy perhaps, a query as to whether his life could somehow be spared. But no further words came. The King beat his wings in appreciation of the boy’s humility; he was prepared to give everything of himself for those he loved and asked for nothing in return.
The warrior dragon’s gaze penetrated deep into Fynch’s heart and he was surprised to see there a startling and precious secret regarding this boy. He had not expected it, butthe discovery warmed him. Should he share it? The child’s life was already forfeit; what could be gained from adding more confusion? The King felt sorrow well up that they would use this boy so. But there was no other way. Fynch was the sacrifice, though it cut him deeply to send his own to die.
Then we remain in your debt, Fynch. The Thicket and its creatures will always hold you in their hearts. We bless you and hold our faith in you with reverence.
There was too much emotion swirling through Fynch for him to risk another word to this mightiest of beasts. Instead he bowed to show his complete acceptance. The royal creature acknowledged it with another powerful flapping of his wings, driving Fynch to the ground as he lifted effortlessly into the air and disappeared.
Roark and Knave were at his side again.
He has not appeared to us in an age, Knave said, the awe still evident in his voice. He came to pay homage only to you, child.
Fynch, overwhelmed by this fateful meeting with the King of the Beasts, was unable to respond. Knave understood and nuzzled his friend’s small hand. Come, Faith Fynch, we have a journey to begin.
4
L OST IN BLEAK THOUGHTS , Q UEEN V ALENTYNA LEANED HER ELBOWS AGAINST THE COOL WHITESTONE OF THE WALKWAY THAT LINKED TWO OF the palace towers. It was her private place, one she rarely shared. The last person she had permitted to spend time with her here was Koreldy, and before him, Fynch. She could not help but think of those two friends now, both lost to her, both keenly missed. With her face cupped in her hands she stared out across the Briavellian moors she loved so much and marveled at a hawk hovering far ahead in the distance, watching patiently as it waited for its prey. Suddenly it plunged, arrow-like, toward the ground, making the Queen breathless for the small creature about to lose its life.
That was how she felt. Vulnerable, and now suddenly exposed and helpless. Celimus of Morgravia was the hawk and she the creature giving up her life to him.
Rumblings of war were filtering back from Briavel’s spies in Morgravia. By all reports, the Legion was
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