Be calm, whispered Cloot. He felt a powerful surge of magic tingle through his friend’s body.
Tor’s voice was devoid of emotion when he spoke. Corlin must die for this.
I couldn’t agree more. But let’s not announce ourselves just yet. We have no weapons—only your magic.
We need nothing else, Tor said in the same detached manner, his body trembling with the power infusing it and the fury which fired it.
Let them make the first move so we know what their intentions are. I’ll get closer. Cloot lifted silently from Tor’s shoulder, reappearing moments later on a low but well-concealed branch of one of the trees the Prime was nailed to.
They did not have to wait long. Corlin stirred himself. The men who were drinking kicked the other two awake; they said nothing but nodded towards Corlin. They all stood. Tor noted that one of the men was Goron, the brute he had helped Eryn escape from.
‘My, my, this is a pleasant little group,’ he muttered to himself.
‘It’s time,’ Corlin said and picked up a pail from by the horses. He walked across to the prisoner and threw its darkish contents over the Prime’s head. The others laughed drunkenly and enjoyed watching Cyrus attempt ineffectually to shake off the liquid.
‘Hope he likes the taste of second-hand ale,’ one of them said, nudging his companion.
‘I can’t say I could, knowing it’s passed through your guts already,’ said the other.
‘Ho, you can talk Fyster!’ It was Goron speaking. ‘Your piss smells to high heaven but it must surely taste like hell.’
This made them all laugh again until Corlin held up his hand for quiet. Cyrus groaned, and Tor’s heart lurched when he saw the blade appear in Corlin’s hand. It glinted in the morning sun.
‘I tire of you, Prime Arsewipe. Now look up at me, there’s a good soldier, so I can slit your throat properly and with absolute pleasure.’ He grabbed hold of the Prime’s hair and wrenched his head back.
Tor emerged from his cover silently. Cold fury was now controlling the power which brimmed inside him. He thumped a huge bolt of energy into Cyrus, who shook uncontrollably for a few seconds, amusing his captors greatly. They read it as fear.
Cyrus took a deep breath.
‘Oh, you want to say something, Prime Pigshit? Well, we’re all ears,’ laughed Corlin and theatrically bent down near his prisoner’s face.
Tor, still unnoticed, sent another spike and enjoyed watching Cyrus open his puffy, blackened eyes and register his presence nearby. Yet even Tor could hardly believe the smile which creased across the Prime’s almost shredded lips.
‘I just can’t wait to feel a blade slicing through your murderous throat, Corlin. Why don’t you look around?’ Cyrus was breathing heavily from the effort, spitting blood but eyes ablaze as the stream of life-giving energy seared into him.
The group of men were guffawing, slapping their thighs and each other’s backs at their prisoner’s courageous but stupid words. Corlin was not laughing though. He was turning as suggested. Turning to see Tor, alone, unarmed, standing only paces behind him and smiling.
‘Remember me?’ Tor asked politely.
He heard Cloot tsk, tsk in his head before Corlin roared his anger, let go of Cyrus’s hair and charged. The other men were turning now too, and one screamed as a falcon dropped, talons outstretched towards his face, shrieking its intent.
And just as suddenly as it had all erupted, the wood went silent as all five captors found themselves paralysed.
Corlin’s arm was raised, blade pointing straight at Tor. His face was contorted with rage yet his body was rooted to the spot where he stood. Only his eyes could move and they rolled wildly with confusion and terror.
Cloot landed lightly on Tor’s shoulder. They both stared at Corlin for a few moments before moving to Cyrus who was struggling to hold his head up and take in the scene.
He spat blood. ‘Is this a dream?’
‘No. Stay still a moment,’ Tor said, unable to meet the Prime’s eyes. He wondered how he was going to explain this away.
Tor lifted Cyrus to take the weight off his arms and then focused on the nail holding his right hand. A simple spell eased the nail back from the tree’s bark. When it came out, Tor shouldered the man’s full weight to repeat the spell on the second nail. The Prime groaned when he was laid on the ground and the nails were finally removed from his numb, shattered hands.
‘Untie my legs,’ he breathed raggedly.
Tor stood, walked across to Corlin and unlaced the stubby fingers which gripped the knife he was brandishing. He returned to the Prime and cut the bonds which held his legs.
‘Get me up, boy.’
‘No, Cyrus. Please, let me—’
‘I said get me on my feet—that’s an order!’ It took a giant effort for Cyrus to bellow this.
With Tor’s help, he painfully pulled himself upright, his weak legs barely able to hold him.
‘Help me, Gynt…please.’
Tor put his shoulder under the stooped figure of the bleeding soldier and hefted him straight. ‘Now what?’
‘Put that blade in my hand. You’ll have to wrap my fingers around it because I can’t feel them.’
‘Would you not prefer to see these murderers meet their fate in Tal?’
‘The four thugs over there will, but he’s mine and justice will be meted by me personally,’ Cyrus said through teeth gritted against his pain.
Leaning heavily on Tor, he hobbled the fifteen or so paces to where Corlin stood frozen in his charge, his breeches wet at the front from the panic he now felt. Cyrus stared at his torturer for a long time.
‘The King’s Company, Tor—did you meet up with them?’
Tor swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. Captain Herek was in charge. He was preparing to leave for Tal at dawn.’
‘Are they whole?’
Tor skirted the question. ‘Most were recovering from being drugged. They feared for your life.’
‘Is the Company complete, Mr Gynt? Are there any casualties other than sore heads?’
During this exchange Cyrus had not moved his eyes from the terrified face of Corlin, who was now dribbling his fear. Tor hesitated. A small flock of birds—probably wrens, he thought—lifted noisily from the canopy of trees, spooked by some bird of prey perhaps. He felt Cloot twitch at his shoulder and realised with surprise that his friend would probably now enjoy the sport of hunting and killing such game.
‘Answer me, Gynt,’ said the Prime quietly.
‘As I understood it, sir, the four men on watch had been killed, amongst them your lieutenant.’ Tor held his breath.
‘Royce?’ Cyrus said this as if he did not understand Tor’s answer.
‘I don’t know his name,’ Tor replied, embarrassed. He shifted his own weight to keep the Prime’s tall body from falling over.
‘Light! Royce! The man was just married, you worthless bastard,’ he railed at Corlin, whose eyes widened at the sight of the blade dancing in front of him now.
Cyrus gathered his remaining strength. ‘Your four companions will stand before the King’s justice for the death of three good soldiers and for the theft, torture and near death of his Prime. But you, Corlin, you will die now in the Heartwood, before my justice alone, for the death of my newly married lieutenant, for the suffering of his bride when she is delivered the news, and for the sons and daughters he never had the chance to sire.’
Cyrus fought back tears and, with a staggering effort of sheer will, stood his full height and pushed away Tor’s help. With both numbed hands clutching at the thick, short dagger, he plunged his full weight behind the blow sinking the blade to its hilt into the throat of Corlin. It was the ceremonial death of a murderer.
A fountain of Corlin’s blood spewed forth over the Prime, joining his own on his torn shirt. He stood and let it flow over him, saying nothing, just witnessing the life drain from Corlin, still frozen in his steps.
‘Release him,’ the Prime said finally when Corlin’s eye
s had glazed over.
Tor snapped the spell on Corlin and his dead body thudded to the ground, sodden with his blood. Cyrus was not far behind him, collapsing first to his knees and then onto his chest, slipping into grateful unconsciousness.
It was several hours later before Tor was ready. He was shockingly tired. He leaned against a tree and looked at Cyrus, now cleaned with what water was available and bandaged with strips of Cloot’s old shirt. They had dressed Cyrus in another shirt they had found in one of the men’s saddlebags.
Cyrus was sleeping after Tor’s powerful ministrations had mended bones and healed some of the swollen, bruised areas on his body. Corlin and his men had whipped Cyrus near to death and his back and chest were a fretwork of lacerations. Tor had weaved his magic to clean up the wounds and prevent any further infection. He had wanted to heal the cuts too, but Cloot had strongly urged him against it, and Tor agreed it would be hard enough to explain the Prime’s recovery. He had given Cyrus much of his own energy stores to stay alive but now that the major injuries were already mending Tor let him sleep so his own defences could rally. He gave him some fiery spirit they found in Corlin’s possessions to help him sleep deeply, without pain.
Tor had released the men one by one from the spell, after securing their hands behind their backs and then tying them to each other with a strong rope he had dug out of their bags. They were so scared of him that they would happily have tied one another up if he had asked them to.
Cloot was concerned that although these men would sound as though they were talking gibberish, someone might pay attention to their rantings about magic. Someone like Chief Inquisitor Goth.
Tor had pondered this whilst he went back to fetch Bess and Fleet. He recalled something which Alyssa had said to him years ago: ‘Nothing is impossible with your power, Tor.’ The words echoed in his head and he wondered whether it would be possible to take all memory of his intervention from Corlin’s thugs.
Try it, Cloot said when Tor asked him what he thought. Even I know that King Lorys does not suffer sentients happily. If he gets so much as a sniff of magic being wielded in his Kingdom, our days are numbered.
What about Cyrus then?
Don’t worry about Cyrus. I don’t think you have anything but gratitude to fear from him, said the falcon preening itself on Tor’s shoulder.
He’s an honourable man, Cloot. He may feel obliged to tell the Inquisitors.
Tor was worried, but more about what Merkhud would say to him showcasing his talents than about how much fun the Inquisitors would have if a powerful sentient were revealed to them.
Cloot’s calm, confident manner reassured him. Cyrus is part of the puzzle somehow, Tor. I feel he’s safe to trust.
Tor looked over now at the huddle of men who were watching him and the falcon with frightened eyes. The empowered boy with the mad-eyed bird sitting on his shoulder. Tor could imagine the stories—it almost made him smile. There was nothing for it: he would have to try. He crouched in the shadows beneath a large tree.
Well, come on then, Cloot called impatiently from a few branches above.
Light! Give me a chance, I don’t know what I’m doing, you mad bird.
For some reason, calling Cloot a mad bird made both of them convulse with laughter and it was several moments before Tor reached any level of composure. He looked at the startled men, who were now fully convinced that not only was he dangerous but insane too, as was the violent bird hopping around in the branches close by.
Just trust yourself, Cloot whispered.
Tor remembered Alyssa’s words again, closed his eyes and reached out to the forest, which smiled its own encouragement. Then he focused sharply on the men, weaving a potent enchantment. When he finally opened his own eyes, theirs were closed and they were all slumped in sleep.
What happened?
That’s it. One minute awake and terrified. The next, asleep. Do you think it worked? Cloot dropped alongside Tor.
Tor stood. Let’s see. He walked to the men and nudged them awake with his boot. They were groggy but the fear had gone out of their eyes.
‘Goron, isn’t it?’ Tor said.
‘So what if it is?’ the huge man answered, pulling at his bonds. ‘Where’s Corlin?’
‘Dead.’
The conspirators appeared genuinely shocked.
‘Who killed him?’
‘Cyrus.’
‘Impossible,’ the man called Fyster said, shaking invisible cobwebs from his mind. ‘He was nailed to the trees.’
‘Well, he did it. And you fellows will be standing before the King’s justice soon for the execution of his four soldiers,’ Tor replied, deflecting their thoughts from Cyrus to their own necks. They groaned as one.
‘What possessed you men to do this?’ Tor was determined to know.
‘Money,’ Fyster said flatly. ‘Corlin paid each of us handsomely. Half in Hatten, half when the job was done—not that we knew what the job was. He gave us barrels of ale and kept us drunk most of the time. The only time we were sober was when we ambushed the Company, and that was easy because they were drugged. He killed the watches, not us.’ Fyster shook his head sadly.
‘And what about the Heartwood, were you not afraid to enter it?’ Tor said.
The man who was called Chirren piped up. ‘Oh, we were, but the money talked us into it and he gave us some confection to drink which he said would dull any panic. Tasted horrible but it worked. We drank it twice a day.’ He was the youngest of the gang and eager to tell the tale.
Tor was intrigued. ‘Where is this confection?’
‘He kept it in his pack—it’s in a blue bottle,’ Chirren offered happily, ignoring the scowls of the others.
‘We’re going to face the King’s justice for murder, you dope. Why don’t you help him a little more?’ growled Goron.
Tor was already rifling through Corlin’s belongings and soon found the bottle Chirren spoke of. He unstoppered it and recoiled at the smell. It certainly would taste terrible going by its pungency. He would show this to Merkhud.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ asked Goron.
‘I don’t think so,’ Tor said in an offhand manner. He hefted each man to his feet. ‘Now, gentlemen, I want you on your horses and no trouble. If it wasn’t for me arriving to stop the carnage, Prime Cyrus would have run you all through. He was in a blind rage and had the smell of blood in his nose.’
He heard Cloot chuckle sarcastically in his head.
‘So if you want some advice, co-operate and who knows how lenient the King may be when he learns that although you participated in this heinous crime, none of you killed a man.’
They began agreeing with him. Tor got them up on their horses, which he had already saddled. Though they seemed keen to oblige now he did not trust them for a second, least of all Goron, so he tied each man to the other again so the horses would have to walk in a column. Next, he gently woke Cyrus and asked him if he could sit a horse and travel awhile.
The Prime was surprised to find he had slept, and even more surprised to find himself bandaged and feeling so alive.
‘When I killed Corlin, I thought that was the end of me too, Gynt. It was the very last of my strength.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘I thought so too. We just had to pray that if we cleaned and bandaged your wounds you might live long enough for us to get you to Physic Merkhud.’
Tor felt the full weight of the piercing glare which was legend with Cyrus’s men.
‘You lie so badly, Gynt,’ he snorted. ‘And this damn bird that hangs around you like a bad smell…Why do I get the feeling you are covering up some terrible secret?’
Tor felt the hairs rise on his arms.
‘Relax, Tor,’ Cyrus added kindly. ‘I have never been so relieved to see anyone in my life as I was to clap swollen eyes on you today. I am in your debt: the mere fact that I still breathe and will live to avenge the death of my men is because of you.’ He held up his hand to stop Tor leaping in. ‘
No, wait. You must know this. When they were beating me and I sank into the black hole of unconsciousness which seemed my only escape, a woman visited me. She did not tell me her name, and I never actually saw her, but she had a beautiful voice and she calmed me, returning again and again to urge me to hold on. And do you know what she told me to hold on for?’
Tor shook his head.
‘For you, Gynt. She told me you were coming and that you would save me. She said more in this black world we spoke in: she asked me to protect your secrets from all, including those I serve, and to protect you with my life. How’s that for dreaming, Tor? And then you appeared.’
He used Tor to lean on as he stood slowly.
‘Let’s say no more now. It’s all beyond my understanding anyway, other than I hope you have a damn good story for the inevitable army which will be bearing down on this region as we speak.’ He laughed. ‘Saying thank you seems too lame, Tor, so I won’t try to express my gratitude to you and your…er…bird over there.’
‘He’s a peregrine falcon,’ Tor said meekly.
The column set off at a slow pace: Cyrus led on Fleet, with the four prisoners in the middle, and Tor at the back on Bess and leading the extra horse. Cloot flew high above, instructing Tor on how to navigate their way back through the Heartwood in the direction of Brewis.
The prisoners marvelled at Tor’s sense of direction, but the Prime looked up and saw the superb peregrine falcon flying very high ahead of them. He smiled and called back over his shoulder, ‘I have a very fine Morriet in my rooms, Gynt, which I’ve been saving. I hope you’ll share it with me on our return.’
12
A Surprise for Merkhud
The forty men of the Shield travelled in silence, their shock at hearing the news of their missing Prime still palpable.
Cyrus had two roles and was revered by his men in both. The first, and most important, was as Prime of the Shield—the small, private army of superior warriors who protected the monarch. The larger army, responsible for the security of the realm, was known as the Company and Cyrus was its head also. In the days of old King Mort there had been a man for each job but today Tallinor lived in peace and Cyrus easily handled both.
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