Cyne – The Unchosen (Part 2): CYNE THE UNCHOSEN, #2

By Seagull Editions

The second installment of the Unchosen Series continues to follow Cyne as she realizes she's been lied to and betrayed in many ways. Finding solace in her new, unassuming, lover, the bard Medwyn, her journey continues as she travels further south to meet her Mirati contact and solidify the support of her future husband. Not who he appears, she arrives in the capital of Mirat with high hopes and a plan of action. It is from here that their war against Tyne will be raised and Cyne herself, along with her faithful friends and companions, lead the attack, facing down the High Imperial Priestess and her dark magic alongside her own brothers, and Cyne's rageful impulses. The Unchosen One will rise and in the process, gain an Empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223576983

Book preview

Chapter One

The thirteen solid round towers of Boltree Fortress were built in specific tactical spots for ideal defense. They were made of red granite and obsidian, the dark vast walls interconnecting these towers strengthened by symmetric machicolations for arrows and projectiles. The elegant windows were scattered randomly across the keep and a regular gate with thick dark wooden doors was the only way in. Of course, you need a guide to lead you down the fjord and hills to the naturally narrow passage up to the gates above the small but defended castle town. A handful of smaller waterfalls from the overhanging mountains above fed the fjord-turned-river and the valley beyond into the vast and scarred battlegrounds of the grasslands.

The group had made it to the fortress and Cyne let herself be known to the captain of the city guard, who was thankfully a dear friend and staunch ally. He was surprised to see her so disheveled but relieved to see her unhurt and in good company. However, he immediately realized that Richart needed aid and called on the most well-respected apothecary in the city, a frequent face amongst the guards. While he had Richart carried to the keep, Shedia following closely, the guard captain urged Cyne to get inside as her arrival has been expected for days.

Haeth was relieved to see trays of good food and mugs of ale as they entered the keep through its singular, small, wooden door. Unlike the opulent palaces of the north and east, this fortress was originally built as a stronghold, and nothing else. Its strategic spot in the south and its invincibility over the past thousand years has made it an ideal launching point for her ambitions. Her dingy cloak was removed by a maiden the second she walked into the wide and warm great hall. There was a page, a messenger, her castellan, or fortress governor, and two maids waiting for her there.

The night was gathering outside the various random upper windows of the keep and the fire’s glowing red flames sent shadows across the stone and straw floor. Cyne didn’t waste time, ordering the page and maids to bring a feast with lots of ale and wine. She then dictated to her castellan her directions to lockdown the fortress, allow no outside traders inside the walls, and start accumulating, at fair prices, all the grain and food supplies they could store safely.

She told him to pay the guards extra and to start recruiting soldiers, mages, and healers subtly so they could be trained over the next few months. She then demanded a report from the castellan before he left the room, which was uneventful as most of the countryside north of Arden was gossiping about the missing princess. The south, around Bolltree and the battlefields, most were talking about the influx of Mirati troops to the border river crossing. There was also a report from Arden instructing them to bolster their defenses and send out scouts to assess the implications of these extra Mirati troops.

Cyne dismissed him to his work then, relieved to finally see the food and ale coming in wide wooden bowls and flat bronze plates. The mugs of drink were full and heavy, Haeth, Nestor, and Medwyn each taking food the moment it touched the table. It was a sprawl, a scraping sound, and Cyne immediately turned to the page, who had abandoned his bowl of small roasted birds and fish for them to pick at. The maids were laying bread bowls, cups, and plates as their glasses were filled, and the page waited patiently for her orders.

Bring a minstrel, perhaps two to play some music while we dine and discuss, Cyne nodded, grabbing up her glass of red wine and drinking half of it in two big gulps.

Princess, please, Medwyn begged, standing from his seat, and pulling Gwyneth to his chest. He had the look of being slapped, as if she’d offended him deeply. He then fell to one knee, his head low. Allow me to be the first to play you a tune in your own keep.

He was bowing pitifully, his hair over his face, but his determination was obvious, Haeth chuckling while Nestor devoured more meat and bread with a pounding of his newly emptied goblet on the table. Cyne sighed at this, waving for him to continue, the page going to get more food and drink as Medwyn cleaned his hands and face on his discarded cloak.

The messenger waited patiently near the hearth, silently listening as Medwyn tuned his oud. Cyne enjoyed the warm brown and golden breads, dipping them in the meaty sauce and delighting in the honied cakes and meats they brought out next. It was simple food but after the week she had, wandering through field and forest, swamp, and slope, she needed substance in her meals. She was hungrily picking at some honied meat and bread when someone came into the hall, a plain dressed couple, a woman, and a man. They were each carrying an instrument and sat gingerly on one of the small but comfortable benches near the back of the hall.

The man also had some sort of oud, different in style as his wife carried a single small, beaded drum and a chittering stick of beads. Medwyn spoke to them quietly, smiling and chatting as the other three ate, Cyne trying to go slowly so she didn’t upset her stomach. After the second cup of wine, and another piece of bread, she stopped, wondering what Medwyn was doing over there. She had asked for music with dinner and before she could speak, the strumming hypnotic lull of the oud rang out magically throughout the entire hall.

Nestor and Haeth paused, looking over as the woman with the drum tapped it rhythmically with one hand, her other slowly and occasionally tilting her stick of beads to mimic rainfall. It was a slow, strumming rhythm but Medwyn wasn’t playing yet, he was swaying to the beat, admiring the minstrels talents before adding his own. It was a foreign tune, a sound unrivaled, and even the other players were enchanted. The room had gone still, quiet, as Medwyn strummed and slowly walked about the hall. It was as if he was all alone, slowly swaying and striding around the hall to the strums and patterns of his oud. It was complicated, but longing, bold and unpredictable, but familiar, and Cyne was stunned into listening to the whole tune as he circled the hall multiple times.

He hadn’t come back from wherever he was, his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes alight and staring into the sky as he created the most beautiful thing any of them had ever heard. It sounded somewhat familiar to Cyne but she could not tell where, picking out bits and pieces from the songs he had played on their journey. They were elevated now, smooth, with beautiful interludes that seemed to tie together the adventure into song itself. He was quite talented, stepping up onto a table, strumming a sad last note before taking a solo of fast and lilting strums, the final sound echoing the last fall of beads and rain from the woman’s hand.

The maids, the page, and several of the guards and kitchen staff had heard the music and were scattered in various doorways and landings surrounding the hall,