Chapter One
Northern Wales, 1821
"They're all dead, my lord," Horas said, standing up from the body he'd been inspecting and looking at the field strewn with others. "Some half-eaten. Some just killed for sport. But either way, they're all dead."
Kian surveyed the sight before him in silence, his gaze moving from one mutilated sheep to the next. He'd spent the five previous mornings surveying the exact same scene, save with varying players. Sheep were the main victims, but there had been cattle and goats and pigs as well. All had been his tenants' livestock, and all the attacks had occurred on his lands.
Something evil had come to Tylluan.
"Are there no prints again, Horas?"
"No, m'lord. None that I can find. There might be some under all the water, though. Kind of hard to tell."
"Damnation," Kian muttered. It was always the same. There was never any sign of who or what the predator was---no prints, either human or animal, no tufts of fur---yet there was always a tremendous amount of water muddying the field where the destruction had taken place. It was as if rain had fallen heavily in only one place, leaving behind a watery swamp littered with dead carcasses.
"I'm sorry, Allan," he said to the tenant, who stood beside him. "Is it the entire flock, then?"
"Aye, m'lord," said Allan. Behind him, a group of his fellow tenants murmured and nodded and cast glances at their new lord. Kian felt their appraisals keenly, knowing full well what they were thinking. He had only been master of Tylluan for seven months, and scarce a week had gone by that some misfortune or other hadn't befallen either someone or something on the vast estate. Illness, injury, fire, dry wells, inexplicable destruction---just when Kian thought he had everything under control, something else occurred to get Tylluan's inhabitants into an uproar.
His tenants were beginning to whisper that Tylluan had been cursed, and Kian was starting to wonder precisely the same thing. Unfortunately, they were also starting to wonder whether Kian was capable of being a true lord to them, protecting them and their children, their homes and livestock. His father, the previous baron, had managed well enough, though in a somewhat uninvolved manner. Whenever trouble occurred, Ffinian Seymour was content to call upon the Dewin Mawr, rather than tend to the matter himself. Lord Graymar had always come, if not entirely happily, and fixed the problem, which both the tenants and Kian's father had found very welcome. The Dewin Mawr worked quickly and powerfully; even the most tenacious spirits had been readily vanquished with ease.
When Kian had taken Ffinian's place as baron at Tylluan, however, he had vowed that he would only call upon his cousin in the direst need and only if Kian himself couldn't find the solution first. This was partly due to pride, he knew, because he was, like Malachi, an extraordinary wizard and ought to be powerful enough to handle difficult problems. But more than that, Kian felt the need to prove himself. If he couldn't manage a single estate like Tylluan with some semblance of success, he'd certainly never be able to oversee all the magical Families who gave the Dewin Mawr their allegiance.
At the moment, he'd simply like to gain the allegiance of his tenants. They were not all of magical descent, but they were all, from generations past, sympathetic to those who were and understood the responsibilities that came with giving their loyalty to a lord possessed of great powers. The people of Tylluan, like many Welsh, kept the mysteries of magic secret from the outside world. In return, however, they rightfully expected some manner of recompense. Especially in the way of safety and security.
"Might've been something wild," Horas said contemplatively, rubbing his chin. "Boars, maybe. Or wolves."
Kian appreciated his steward's loyal attempt to find a more normal solution to the problem, but after spending six mornings looking at fields of dead animals, they were well beyond pretending.
"Something wild, aye," Kian agreed. "But it wasn't any creature known to mortal men."
His tenants murmured quietly in agreement.
Horas glanced at Kian and gave a single nod. "Is it Cadmaran, then, do you think?"
The question was asked so casually that anyone who didn't know the history between the Cadmaran and Seymour families might not understand the meaning behind it. But that wasn't the case with all those who were present. They fell silent and waited to hear whether Kian would make a public declaration of his belief in his distant neighbor's guilt.
Morcar Cadmaran, the Earl of Llew, was, like Lord Graymar, both an extraordinary wizard and the powerful head of an ancient magical family. Unlike Lord Graymar, Cadmaran practiced dark magic. Evil magic. Magic like the kind that had caused the mayhem and death strewn out on the field before Kian. It wouldn't be the first time that a Cadmaran had visited such destruction on a Seymour.
The two families had been at odds for centuries, contending over which should wield the greater authority over the other magical clans. Thus far the Seymours had maintained the place of most power, but only, the Cadmarans claimed, by cheating at every given opportunity. The charge had enraged past generations of Seymours, who found it to be entirely unjust, and a mutual enmity had been birthed between the two families. There had been arguments, volatile encounters, even battles fought over which family had suffered the greater insult. In time, the Seymours had simply begun to ignore the ridiculous feud, but the Cadmarans found it impossible to set aside. Indeed, the current Earl of Llew seemed determined to carry on the unpleasantness at all costs.
Morcar Cadmaran believed that the Seymours had done everything possible to ruin him. They had even denied him the woman whom he had chosen for his wife, Ceridwen Seymour, a gifted sorceress with whom Morcar believed he would be able to produce wildly powerful offspring. He had been thwarted in his attempts to secure her hand by Malachi, who had allowed her to marry the man of her choice, a mere mortal. It had been the final straw in what the Earl of Llew saw as an endless string of misdeeds. He wanted to topple the Seymours from their place of power; and the best way to do that was to destroy their head, the Earl of Graymar.
There was only one acceptable way among their kind to bring down one who had been recognized as the Dewin Mawr, and that was through a duel of powers, properly challenged and properly accepted, according to the rules laid down ages past by the Guardians. But Morcar hadn't been able to force such a duel, because Malachi continuously found ways to avoid meeting him face-to-face, a fact the Earl of Llew found endlessly frustrating. Yet he determinedly kept trying to lure Malachi out into the open. The troubles that had been plaguing Tylluan of late were, Kian believed, evidence of such efforts. Cadmaran knew that if Kian couldn't find a way to stop the attacks on his lands, he would eventually have to send for the Dewin Mawr's aid. And then the Earl of Graymar would be in North Wales and that much closer to the Earl of Llew's lair.
Unfortunately, Kian had no proof that Cadmaran was behind the attacks, and he wasn't going to make his suspicions public. Such an open assertion of blame was, among their kind, akin to a declaration of war. He would have to tread carefully until he knew better what was going on and whether Lord Llew was truly involved.
In the meantime, Kian had to pacify his tenants' desire for action.
"What I think," he said clearly, "is that someone from Tylluan should visit Fynnon Elian as soon as possible to see whether a curse has been set upon us and, if so, pay the fine to have it lifted."
This suggestion met with loud approval among those present, for they were, like most Welsh, deeply superstitious. It had likely crossed their minds before now that some evildoer had gone to Elian's Well and thrown a curse into the water, bringing all this misery upon them. Although Kian certainly didn't deny that such curses were true, he didn't believe for a moment that paying the well keeper a few coins to lift a curse would solve the troubles at Tylluan. But it would buy him a little time and sooth his tenants for a few days.
"I should be glad to go, m'lord," Allan offered, nodding toward the field. "Once this has been cleared and the carcasses burned."
"Aye, and me with him," said another, followed by a chorus of volunteers.
"It is good of each of you to offer," Kian told them, "but I shall ask my brother to go." He understood what it would mean to the people of Tylluan to have someone so close to their baron perform the task. "Dyfed will leave tomorrow morning and, God willing, be home before the week is out. Let us all pray God that whatever has been bedeviling us will be gone by then."
"Not those, Elen." Loris waved a hand to keep the girl from picking any more thyme. "We've enough for tonight's stew and I want to save plenty for drying. What a glorious day this is." A crisp, cool breeze caressed her cheek and she lifted her head to smile at the white clouds above. "I can scarce remember a spring here with so little rain and so much sun."
"The rain will come, miss," the younger girl said gloomily. "It always does. And the fog with it."
"Aye, that they will, praise be to God," Loris agreed. "We'd be in sore misery if it were not so, especially here on Tylluan's high hill. Look, Elen." Standing, Loris strode nearer to the edge of the garden, where a sheer drop gave way to the valley below. "I never weary of seeing it; do you?" She glanced back at the girl, who trudged unhappily over to join Loris, dragging her mostly empty basket along as if it were a great burden.
"It's the same as it was yesterday," Elen replied, "and the day before that and the day before that. Nothing ever changes here."
"No," Loris murmured with pleasure. "I pray it never will."
It had been ten years since Ffinian Seymour had taken her into his heart as an adopted daughter and brought her to live at Tylluan. Ten glorious years out of London's dark alleys and filthy dens. And all of them spent here, in this wild and beautiful land. There had been a great deal of work for her to do in the beginning, for the castle had been in a disastrous condition and Ffinian and his sons and their men given to living more like animals than men, but Loris had gladly applied herself to the challenge of putting everything and everyone into order. And somehow, in the process, Tylluan had become her home. Her own beloved home, made clean and comfortable and lovely by her own hand. She was safe here, and happy as she had never dreamed she might be.
"I know you can't see Tylluan as I do, Elen," she told the girl. "You've never known anything else. But you're very young, yet, and might one day have the chance to see something more of England. And then, perhaps, you'll realize just how beautiful Tylluan is by comparison."
Elen sighed aloud. "I hope so, miss," she said. "There must be so many wonderful things in other places. Shops and carriages and beautiful things. And something exciting to do once in a while. Nothing ever happens here." She sighed again. "Nothing good, anywise."
"We did, too, have something good happen," Loris reminded her. "And only a few months past. Can you have forgotten the wedding so soon?"
"That's true, miss," Elen agreed unhappily. "But that wasn't really a good happening, was it? I never thought the baron would leave us, just because he wanted to take a wife."
"It was a difficult change," Loris agreed sympathetically, remembering the sadness among the people of Tylluan when Ffinian, who had been their beloved lord for so many years, stepped down from the title. "But it was good, whether you realize it or not, and it certainly wasn't unexpected. The title has always belonged to Master Kian. He inherited it from his mother at her death. Master Ffinian was merely running the estate until the time came for the current baron to take his rightful place."
Elen shook her head and set the basket in her arm on her hip. "I miss the old baron, though. Why couldn't he have married Lady Alice and stayed at Tylluan? She could've come here and been his baroness."
"Lady Alice's estate is almost as large as Tylluan," Loris said. "It needs someone to look after it, and now that she and Master Ffinian have wed, she'll have a very capable husband to lend her his aid."
"But they're not even at Glen Aur," Elen countered.
"Well, no, not at the present time," Loris said. "But once their honeymoon is over they'll return to Glen Aur and very likely remain there much of each year, as Lady Alice was given to doing before she married Master Ffinian. And just as soon as they return from the Continent I'm certain they'll come to visit us. The former baron could never stay away from Tylluan for long. He loves it as much as the new baron does." Loris hoped that would be so, for she missed Ffinian terribly. Tylluan seemed empty without his loud, booming voice and raucous laughter. And meals were almost dull without his outrageous storytelling and jests.
Elen made a sound of disbelief and said, "I hope Master Ffinian returns soon. He'll put everything to right in a shake, just as he always used to do. Allan Jones lost his whole flock today, so I heard."
"I heard the same," Loris said sadly. It was a shadow marring the beautiful day, just as so many days had so recently been shadowed. "But don't despair yet, Elen. You and the others must give Lord Tylluan some time to discover what's causing so much destruction. He's trying very hard to find the source and what the cure may be."
Despite their difficult relationship, Loris knew how deeply Kian loved Tylluan, and had seen him spend night after night poring over ancient texts, striving to find answers to the troubles that had been plaguing the estate these many months. He ate little, of late, and slept even less. Many a morning the upstairs maid had reported that his bed had not been slept in, and Loris could see for herself the weariness and strain that had begun to creep into Kian's face. It seemed unfair to her that his tenants should have so little faith in their lord and lack so much patience in giving him a chance.
"But how many more sheep must die, or worse, before he at last calls for the Dewin Mawr to come and save us?" Elen asked.
"That's enough, Elen," Loris said, her temper beginning to rise. "You'll not speak of the baron in such a manner again. Regardless of what you or the others may think, he deserves your respect and loyalty."
The serving girl made a sour face but curtsied and obediently answered, "Yes, miss."
"Take the basket into the kitchen, then, and tell Cook to get started. I'll be in presently."
As Elen made her way slowly back to the castle, Loris watched, glad to have a few moments to herself before it became necessary to go back indoors and supervise the daily work.
The garden was already in bloom this year, thanks to an early spring and numerous days of sunshine. Bright daffodils grew in the midst of the rows of vegetables and herbs, breaking the monotony of orderly green. Loris took out her scissors and cut several stalks to grace the tables in the great hall. Although the current baron didn't appear to care much for the beauty of fresh flowers during his evening meal, she continued to put them out. Ffinian had loved flowers in the castle, and it made Loris happy to think of how pleased he would be if he could see them.
"Loris!"
She looked up to see Dyfed coming through the garden gate, two of his favorite hunting dogs loping alongside, his hand aloft in greeting. In his other hand he carried a bow, and over his shoulder were slung a quiver half-filled with arrows and a number of limp birds tied together by the legs. Excellent, Loris thought. There would be fowl on the table tonight, along with the mutton.
"It looks as if you've had a good morning," she said as he neared her. The two dogs hurried up to have their heads scratched.
"Aye, and that I have. Look at these fat partridges I brought down. And these grouse. We're going to have a fine season this year, I vow."
"At least we've that to be thankful for," Loris said as Dyfed divested himself of his burdens, laying them on a nearby bench. "Did you hear about Allan Jones's flock?"
Dyfed gave a grim nod. "It's the same as the others. Six mornings in a row, now," he said. "Kian's going half-mad trying to find out what's behind it, poor devil." With a wave of his hand, Dyfed sent the dogs away. Then he bent and gave Loris a quick, affectionate kiss before sitting on the bench to admire his catch.
Watching him, Loris thought of how deeply she loved him and of how very different that love was from the conflicting emotions she felt for Kian. Dyfed was like a brother to her or what she had always thought a brother might be like. He had been unfailingly gentle and kind to her from Loris's very first day beneath Ffinian's care and had almost always taken her side against Kian during their frequent arguments. There had been a time when she had hoped that something more might come of her and Dyfed's relationship and had even gone so far as to let others believe that she and Dyfed were betrothed for a time. It was something Ffinian had desired, having given up hope that she would ever come to love Kian, despite the unoliaeth they all believed in, and wanting her to marry at least one of his sons. But that had all been foolishness and had long since been forgotten. There could never be any romantic passion between Dyfed and herself. Only a deep and abiding affection.
Dyfed was a lesser wizard, possessed only of the single gift of silent speech, which he used, thankfully, only when absolutely necessary. When Loris had first come to live at Tylluan, Dyfed had been in the habit of forgetting himself and speaking only with his thoughts---an experience Loris had found oddly unsettling. It had been for her sake, in part, that he had considerately forced himself to speak aloud.
Though he was a man full-grown, Loris still saw vestiges of the boy he'd once been, for his days were filled with ease. Kian, however, had left every hint of boyishness behind the moment he took up the duties of the estate. Loris had found it a welcome change; they had at last found a common ground upon which to find a tentative peace after all their years of constant fighting.
Loris had been afraid, at first, that Kian might find a way to wrest the management of the castle away from her, but he'd let her go on precisely as his father had. Better yet, Kian had a far greater interest in Tylluan's prosperity and security than Ffinian had and spent a great deal more time managing the estate than he had done. Between the two of them, Loris managing the day-to-day chores of the castle and Kian managing the rest, Tylluan was, for the first time since she'd come to live there, actually heading in a forward direction. Or had been, until the troubles had begun to take their toll.
"Dyfed," she said, coming to sit beside him. "What do you think is causing the destruction of the cattle? It can't simply be wild beasts, for there would have to be a great number to kill so many animals in one night, and surely someone would have seen other signs of them."
"No, it has to be something supernatural," Dyfed agreed. "Kian suspects that one of the ancient creatures has been unleashed, somehow, and I believe he must be right. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say Cadmaran was behind it. That would appeal to him, bringing a forbidden dark magic back to life."
"An ancient creature?" Loris murmured. "Do you mean like the ones that Ffinian was always telling stories of? The giant beasts and evil spirits?"
"The very same. They all truly existed, though he made them sound far more fantastic than they were. Many roamed these very lands. It would be against all our laws to bring such a creature back to life, but Cadmaran has nothing to lose by doing so. The Guardians have already blinded him for trying to kill Cousin Niclas three years past, and he knows they won't take his life. The Guardians never pronounce a judgment of outright death, even though they've sometimes put a cursed one's life in the hands of another. But that only happens in the direst circumstances---not simply because some sheep have been slaughtered. Cadmaran knows what the limits are."
Dyfed sounded perfectly at ease, but Loris felt a stab of fear at the idea. Morcar Cadmaran was a fearsome, evil wizard, and he hated the Seymours. He was also, unfortunately, lord of an estate that lay not far from Tylluan, which made them particularly vulnerable to his scheming.
"But it required many great wizards to overcome such creatures so long ago. How can Kian possibly manage on his own?"
"He can't," Dyfed replied distractedly, examining his bow with a frown and running his finger along a scrape in the wood. "He should have called for Malachi to come long ago."
"Not you, too!" Loris cried, rising to her feet. "Is there no one in Tylluan who has any faith in their lord? Not even his own brother?"
Dyfed looked up at her, surprised. "Don't be angry, Loris," he said. "Of course I have faith in Kian. But it's simply a fact that he hasn't the power or knowledge to overcome Cadmaran's wiles. Only the Dewin Mawr can. Don't you remember how many times Malachi was obliged to come and remedy the troubles Lord Llew caused while my father was the baron of Tylluan?"
"But Ffinian isn't an extraordinary wizard," Loris countered. "Or even a greater wizard, for that matter."
"He isn't even truly a lesser wizard," Dyfed put in. "He doesn't possess any powers at all, apart from the ability to charm women."
"But that's what I mean," Loris said. "He had to call for help, because he couldn't do anything himself. But Kian isn't so helpless. One day he'll be just as powerful as Lord Graymar."
"Aye, one day," Dyfed said. "But not now. Kian's powers are great, but they're still limited. He can't take to the air, yet, or make himself invisible. His senses regarding the presence and powers of other magic mortals are yet being developed, and he hasn't even begun to learn the half of what Malachi knows in the way of potions and spells, to say nothing of fast traveling, which he's only just begun to learn. If Kian truly wants to do what's best for Tylluan, then he'll put away his pride and admit that he needs help. One would think he'd have learned his lesson after what happened ten years ago, at the Red Fox." Dyfed went back to examining his bow.
Loris gazed at him for a silent moment, considering his words. On the one hand, she agreed completely that Kian possessed an enormous ego, but on the other, she wasn't insensible to the fact that Kian's pride had driven him to save her from Gregor Foss and, ultimately, her miserable life in London.
"You could help him," she suggested gently. "Above lending your aid in keeping watch at nights, which of course is your duty to both Tylluan and Kian. Some of the tenants have magic, and perhaps if you all combined your powers, you might---"
"It wouldn't be enough," Dyfed told her. "Trust me in this, Loris, and leave the matter be."
"I can't," she said, shaking her head. "And you shouldn't, either."
He glanced at her. "It's curious that you should care so much. Not about Tylluan, of course."
It took Loris a moment to understand what he meant. "About Kian?" she asked. "He's the master of Tylluan. Why would it be odd if I were to worry over him?"
"Because you hate him," Dyfed replied simply.
Loris threw her hands up into the air with exasperation. "I do not hate Kian. We disagree a great deal, but that has nothing to do with hatred. How many times must I tell you so?"
Dyfed looked at her with patience. "You've been cursed, and no matter how you deny it, I know what your feelings for Kian must be. At least until the curse is lifted and the magic of the unoliaeth fills your heart."
The curse again. And the unoliaeth. God help her, but she was sore weary of hearing about both of them. Loris had learned a great deal about magic since coming to live at Tylluan. She knew and believed that both blood curses and unoliaeths existed, for she had known magic mortals who had existed beneath them. One of Ffinian's great-nephews, Niclas Seymour, had been blood cursed after inadvertently causing the death of a friend who was a mere mortal. In the years that had followed, until the curse was lifted, Niclas had been unable to sleep and had suffered terribly.
She accepted that she and Kian had been cursed---there was no other way to explain the odd burning pain she felt when he touched her for longer than a few moments---but she could not and would not accept that she had been cursed to hate him as well. Her feelings for him were confusing, often angry and distressing, and always deeply felt, but none of these had to do with hatred.
"I don't hate Kian," she said again. "And there is nothing odd in my being worried about him. Tylluan---all of us here---depend upon him. We should all be worried. You most of all."
Dyfed uttered a laugh. "Are we speaking of my brother, dearest Loris? Kian doesn't want anyone worrying over him. In truth, it would make him quite irate to know of your concerns. Now leave the matter be, I beg you. Kian will come to his senses soon enough."
"Will I?" The garden gate closed with a loud snap. "That's reassuring to know, fy gefell."
Dyfed stood as Kian approached.
"It might be," Dyfed said, his tone filled with displeasure at the knowledge of being overheard, "if we had any hope of the event happening sooner than later. There was another slaughter last night. Are you at last going to send for Malachi?"
"No," Kian replied simply. "I'm not. I'm going to send you to Fynnon Elian, instead, to pay for the lifting of any curses that have been sent into the cursing well."
"Fynnon Elian?" Dyfed repeated with disbelief. "That's a full day's ride. You're jesting, surely."
"Not in the least," his brother replied pleasantly. "You're to leave in the morning. If the weather holds, it should be an agreeable journey."
From the expression on Dyfed's face Loris could tell that the brothers were about to have a serious disagreement. Sighing, she turned to fetch her basket.
"You can't actually believe that everything that's happened has to do with a mere well curse?" Dyfed demanded.
"Perhaps not," said Kian, "but you'll go, nonetheless, and pay the well keeper a goodly sum for a blessing."
"It's a fool's errand," Dyfed insisted. "And it's not going to buy you much time."
"Don't argue, Dyfed," Loris said sternly, walking past them with the basket in hand. "Do it for the sake of the people of Tylluan, if you find that you can't do it for any other cause. I shall have your bag packed and made ready for you first thing in the morn."
"Loris!"
It was Kian who called her. She turned about and gazed at him inquiringly.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Another letter has arrived for you. From London."
She almost dropped the basket.
"Another . . ." She felt chilled all over and drew in a shaking breath.
Kian looked for a moment as if he might come toward her. One of his hands clenched and unclenched.
"It's in my study," he said more gently. "Come when you have a moment and I'll give it to you."
"Is it from---?"
"Come to my study," he repeated. "We'll discuss the matter then."
Loris swallowed and nodded and, turning about, made her way back toward the castle. Behind her, the battle between the two brothers began again, the sound accompanying Loris all the way to the kitchen door.
Copyright © 2005 by Susan Spencer Paul
