The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) by Roberta Trahan Read Free Book Online Page B

easier terrain for the horses—the pebbled dales and rolling, grass- and snow-covered foothills of the Cambrian Mountains. Less than a league after they entered the lowlands, they intersected a proper road. A vaguely familiar road, in fact, and Finn was not at all surprised when Cerrigwen led them northwest along one of the narrow vales that cut between the hillocks. Before long he found himself anticipating what lay on the other side of the next rise, and suddenly he knew exactly where they were.
    “Cwm Brith,” Finn spat.
    “What?”
    Finn ignored Pedr, intent on what was ahead. Sure enough the hillocks gave way to the bowl-shaped expanse that formed the valley head, where the road reached its end. Less than half a league ahead they would reach the gates of a secluded and well-fortified keep.
    “Curse that woman, and curse my soul to the darkest depths of Balor’s realm,” Finn muttered. “I’d hoped to never see this place again.”

F OUR

    “H is Eminence will see you.” Elder Algernon waved the smoldering rush stalk in the direction of the inner courtyard , indicating the rectory on the other side with dripping wax and spitting embers, and then proceeded to lead the way at a maddeningly deliberate pace.
    “I have come on a matter of some urgency,” Thorne said. It required fair effort to restrain his pace enough to keep from trampling the frail, elderly man—and a good deal more to find the patience to be polite. “I remember the way.”
    “You’ve been too long in the wilds again, Brother Edwall.” Algernon paused, obliging Thorne to do the same. “You forget your manners.”
    Thorne gritted his teeth, offered a bow of respect, and then followed Algernon plod for plod across the stone pavers that floored the central round of the keep. Courtesy was a small price, given how rarely he returned to Castell Banraven to pay tribute. “Thank you, Elder, for granting me entry at such a late hou r.”
    “Is it late?” Algernon gave a chortle that was more a short-wi nded cough than a laugh. “I hadn’t noticed. The business of the Ruagaire is almost always conducted in th e de ad of night.”
    One side of the double entry to the rectory stood open, and Algernon waved him in before shuffling away. Thorne quelled a sudden flare of warning and announced himself as he entered the antechamber. “Your Eminence.”
    Master Eldrith nodded to him from behind his desk. “Close the door.”
    Thorne obliged and then returned to the customary position of address at the center of the room. “I have unexpected news.”
    “I assume it must be grave, given how rarely you trouble yourself to return.” Master Eldrith’s stern gaze had a sobering effect. “How many weeks’ service do you owe, Brother Edwall?”
    Thorne struggled with humility. “A matter of months now, I believe. I’m afraid I have lost count.”
    “Hmm.” Eldrith folded his hands and rested them on the desktop. “We shall discuss your tithe later. What is your news?”
    Thorne had not realized how tightly he had been clenching his gloves in his right fist, and tucked them into his scabbard belt in an effort to relax. These visits were always uncomfortable—this one more than most. Master Eldrith was not a particularly warm man, but tonight he seemed unusually aloof.
    “An emissary from the Stewardry has approached me with an unusual request, but perhaps even more unusual than the request are the circumstances that prompted it.”
    Now Thorne realized he had taken to fidgeting with his ring, twisting the signet back and forth on the forefinger of his right hand. “More troubling even than that is the fact that I did not already know.
    “Master Eldrith,” Thorne queried pointedly, watching his superior’s face for signs of surprise, “are you aware of recent events at Fane Gramarye?”
    Eldrith’s expression was essentially unchanged. “Go on.”
    Thorne had a vague sensation of foreboding. “Madoc is dead. Machreth has turned rogue and