Finally Tor had embraced Merkhud. Their affection for one another was genuine but, like any father and son, parting was necessary—essential even.
Once Tor was through the city gates and the throng of waving well-wishers was behind him, Cloot had joined him, flying low alongside him. Both had laughed as Tor encouraged his new young filly, Timara, a gift from the King, into a gallop. He slowed her down only when they were well into open countryside and the sense of leaving Tal behind was complete.
Now, guiding his horse with his knees as Cyrus had taught him years previous, Tor pulled out the small pouch which he had kept secret since Jhon Gynt had given it to him. He was shocked to see that the Stones of Ordolt, which had remained dull and lifeless for the past few years, had begun to burn with vibrant colours again.
He did not understand any of it but he had taught himself to follow his instincts. The orbs which his parents—his real parents—had left for him were all he had to link himself with his past and somehow he knew they should be trusted.
Three days later Cloot and Tor arrived at the small town of Saddleworth. Tor found a modest room for the night at The Horse and Lamb. The falcon decided to remain in the nearby woodland.
Tor was tucking into a tasty stew when Cloot linked with him. By the way, what excuse would you give Cyrus for walking out on him without a proper goodbye?
Tor continued chewing. Why do you ask?
Oh, only that I think you may have the opportunity, Cloot replied.
With that, the inn’s door was flung open and Cyrus barged in, his expression grim. If Tor had not been sitting against a wall he would surely have toppled backwards off his chair.
Cyrus looked saddle-weary. His usually immaculate clothes were dusty and his grey eyes were flinty with anger. ‘Why?’ His voice was edged with danger.
Tor knew there was no point in being glib with Cyrus. Only honesty worked when the Prime was in this mood. He covered his shock by swallowing and taking a moment to compose himself.
‘Will you join me?’ he finally said, self-consciously.
The Prime ignored him. The room had become quiet; its occupants sensed a confrontation and had stopped to watch.
Tor cleared his throat and held his cup in the air towards the innkeeper. He raised two fingers and the innkeeper nodded, busying himself with pouring an ale for the lad and the soldier who had just walked in. The simple chore eased some of the tension and forced people to return to their own conversations.
Tor, relieved, looked back at Cyrus whose expression had not softened in those moments. He wondered whether the Prime might hit him; he looked angry enough.
‘It’s something I have to do, Cyrus. I don’t really understand it myself but life at the Palace is no longer…’ Tor searched for the word, ‘…enough.’
He held up his hand as he saw Cyrus was about to leap in again, his anger ready to spill over.
‘No, wait,’ Tor said firmly. ‘Let me try to explain…and please, sit, have an ale with me. You look terrible.’
A girl banged down two mugs on the table and Tor gave her some coins. Cyrus sat down stiffly. Tor sensed that Cloot had settled in a tree opposite the inn.
Is everything all right? the bird asked.
I’m not sure. Cyrus wants an explanation.
Good luck. Cloot fell silent.
Cyrus swallowed most of his ale in one thirsty gulp. He looked across the table, gaze unflinching. What he said next took Tor by surprise.
‘Has your leaving anything to do with what happened in the Heartwood between you, me and the falcon?’
Tor blinked. It was an involuntary reaction to an extraordinary question but it was enough for Cyrus to know he had hit his mark. He continued.
‘We’ve never discussed what actually occurred, Gynt, but I think we should, don’t you?’
Tor found his voice. ‘Why are you so angry?’
Cyrus nearly leapt across the table. He fought to control his temper. ‘Because you had an important role in Tal,’ he spat. ‘My men need your skills nearby; you are just beginning to handle a sword and, dammit, man, you didn’t even give me a reason…just a terse note. Why in the name of Light would you squander everything and disappear on some mad journey to the other side of the Kingdom to dance around in a mask and pay homage to a crank festival no one even understands?’ His words built into one long shout.
‘That’s not it,’ Tor said in a low voice, embarrassed by the renewed stares from the other patrons. ‘You’re not just upset, you’re scared of me…of not having me close, I mean.’
Careful, Tor, warned Cloot.
‘Out!’ Cyrus stood up so fast and suddenly that his chair toppled with a loud clatter. Onlookers gasped.
‘We want no problem tonight, you men,’ called the innkeeper.
‘Out now!’ Cyrus bellowed.
Well, at least he’s shouting, Cloot said. Cyrus is far more dangerous when he speaks quietly don’t you think? Cloot cleared his throat awkwardly. Perhaps this was not the right moment to discuss character traits.
Tor needed no further encouragement. He stood and meekly followed the Prime to the door. Some of the other men, mostly farmers, took a few steps forward as if to block Cyrus’s path. Tor was touched by their efforts to save his skin. It must look bad but he did agree with Cloot: shouting was good; a silent Cyrus was dangerous.
Cyrus pulled off his cloak to reveal his uniform and badge of office. The men instantly became passive, two of them blurting apologies.
‘It’s all right,’ Cyrus said. ‘We’re friends.’
It was a comical thing to say under the circumstances. The Palace dined on stories of Cyrus’s legendary temper and Tor had no desire to see it unleashed on him. At the same time, he did not want to humiliate his great friend by using the magic he could feel, ever potent, at his call.
‘Hold this!’ Cyrus said to one of the farmers and handed him his cloak.
The man obeyed. Everyone watched in silence as the Prime strode out of the door with the tall young man loping behind. Once outside, Cyrus rounded on Tor. He had the sense to speak normally now but it sounded just as ugly to Tor.
‘You’re damn right I’m scared. Do you think I don’t know you go around wielding magic on your patients? Do you think I’m as stupid as Goth? He might not see it with his scrying stone—the Light knows why!—but you forget you touched me, boy, a long time ago in the forest and since then I can feel your magic!’
‘You do?’ Tor spoke before he could check himself.
‘Yes.’ Cyrus’s eyes blazed.
‘Why haven’t you said anything before?’
‘Why would I? Your powers saved my life. I was dead for sure, just like our Queen. And, miraculously, we both survived to tell our tales simply because you chose for us to live!’
Cyrus shook his head. As quickly as it had kindled the angry spark went out of his eyes. He looked beaten. The soldier sat down on a bale of hay. Cloot dropped silently out of the dark and onto Tor’s shoulder.
Listen now, boy. This is important, the bird said.
Tor had no idea how Cloot would know this but he lost the thread of that thought as Cyrus began to speak.
‘I’ve begun to dream. The woman whose voice I heard in the forest—the one who said you were coming to help me—well, I’ve heard her again.’
‘Lys…’ Tor breathed her name.
‘Yes, her. She warned me that you were leaving Tal on a long journey. When I returned the whole Palace was abuzz with news of your hurried departure.’
Cyrus stood again and walked over to stand in front of Tor. He seemed to struggle with what he was about to say. ‘What does it all mean?’
Tor was as confused as Cyrus.
‘Cyrus, let me tell you something. That day we came to you in the forest, we rode there through the night. You know it’s impossible to ride from Hatten to Brewis in a single night but we did it.’
‘You mean you and the bird here?’
Tor felt uncomfortable.
‘Yes.’
He was suddenly fixed with the stare he had been warned about by the soldiers of the King’s Guard. Tor had not felt the weight of that look since Cyrus had first gazed at him in The Empty Goblet.
‘Tor, I’m just a soldier but it does not pay to underestimate even the lowliest of men. Has it occurred to you that you mentioned the name of the cripple whose ear was nailed to the post at the time we met?’
Tor look confused. Cyrus reminded him. ‘When I called him a halfwit, you gave me his name. I did not mention it at the time; I just allowed you to gabble on.’
Tor’s eyes fell to his feet. He had been skilfully trapped. He remembered his mistake clearly now.
Cloot spoke. Tell him.
Tor could not believe what Cloot had said.
This is no time for games, scolded the bird.
Cyrus, not privy to this silent conversation, was intent on Tor. ‘Tell me the truth, boy. Is this falcon the freak Corlin was torturing?’
‘Yes,’ Tor mumbled.
‘Well, fuck me!’ The Prime clapped his hands. He even began to laugh. It sounded demonic. ‘I knew it. And you did this to him?’
Tor shook his head miserably. ‘No. It happened in the Heartwood before we found you.’
‘How then?’ Cyrus circled Tor and stared at Cloot with wonder. The bird obliged, offering his best angle, even lifting his wings to show off the gorgeous colours hiding beneath.
‘As soon as we arrived in the Great Forest he was transformed.’
Cyrus stopped circling. He was serious again. ‘Is the woman involved? This Lys?’
Tor nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t know any more than you now. I was telling you that we were in Hatten. I was actually in a brothel at the time—’
‘What a surprise!’ said Cyrus, some of his humour returning.
Tor ignored the jibe. ‘And suddenly Cloot screamed into my head that you were in dire trouble and we had to leave immediately for Brewis.’
Cyrus cut in. ‘The falcon was allowed into the brothel with you?’
‘Er, no…’ Tor took a deep breath and plunged on. ‘Cloot can speak to me…in my head.’
‘And you can speak with him.’
It was not a question but Tor answered it as if it was. ‘Yes.’
The soldier sighed with wonder. ‘So, have you seen or met this Lys?’
‘No. She has never come to me. I have never heard her voice or dreamed of her existence. She has only ever visited Cloot…er, and yourself.’
Tor could tell that Cyrus had already decided to suspend all normal understanding and beliefs. He had accepted Cloot, the magic, the link, even Lys and was behaving as though he was receiving a briefing from one of his men. He could not help but admire him.
The soldier continued in a matter-of-fact manner as he paced. ‘So what is this all about—this running away from the Palace?’
Tor pressed on. It was a relief to share this with someone he trusted.
‘I disagree with the whole Inquisition thing but, like you say, Goth and his band have nothing on me—well, perhaps suspicions but I’m well protected.’
Tor ran his fingers through his hair. He was a little confused himself now. It had seemed so clear a few days ago.
‘The King suspects I’m using the Power Arts but has hypocritically ignored this because it suits his needs. I couldn’t stand to be around him any longer. The Queen, like you realise now, can feel it. She has said nothing but then I know that if she could she would execute Goth for the murderous thug he is and dismantle the Inquisition immediately. The King, however, seems to fear the ancient past so upholds those antiquated laws. I had to get away.
‘Furthermore, you might as well know that Merkhud knows what I am. He is aware that I’m sentient and using my powers to heal. He is terrified I’ll be caught. We’ve had words…unpleasant words. It really was best to leave. Instead he suggested I should take the chance to learn more about the history of the Kingdom. He believes that if I understand how the Inquisitors came to be then I may be more careful, perhaps more tolerant. I think he hopes I may be more cautious.’
Cyrus looked unconvinced. ‘So he’s sending you off on this wild errand to Ildagarth?’
Tor considered this. He knew in his own heart it was a thin premise.
‘Actually, it’s probably a good idea. I could use the change of scenery. I want to go back to the Heartwood and I want to try and find out more about Lys. Somehow she seems to be at the centre of all this.’
Cyrus nodded. ‘Now that’s something on which I do agree. That’s why I’m coming with you.’
‘You’re what?’ Tor was shocked.
‘You heard. She’s already told me I have to, so don’t start blustering. Save your energy. I’m as much her puppet as you and the bird are. Plus, I didn’t ride for six days, nearly killing my horse to catch up with you, only to ride back again!’
‘But how can you leave? How will the Palace cope without you?’ Tor was almost babbling.
‘In case it has escaped you, boy, I’ve already left. And everyone will cope without me in the same way they will without you. I don’t understand any of this and I don’t understand you but I know we are joined, Torkyn Gynt, and I know I must travel with you on this strange journey.’ He stared hard into Tor’s bright blue eyes. ‘Let’s not fight it. Let’s just accept. I’ll be back shortly.’
Cyrus left, his strides long and deliberate.
Tor looked at Cloot and blew his cheeks out, his mind completely confused now. So, what do you think?
I don’t think, Tor, I do. Cyrus is right. If Lys has talked to him then she is making all the decisions for us.
But what does it mean?
Don’t ask me questions I have no idea how to answer. All we know is that the three of us are linked somehow. We both knew as much anyway. We must follow her will. What other choice is there?
Tor thought it over. You’re right. One thing, though, and I’ve given it a great deal of thought since we left: I expected more of a fight from Merkhud. He seemed to give in too easily about my leaving. I think he knows more than he tells me.
Cloot agreed. He was deeply suspicious of Merkhud and his motives.
After a night’s rest the odd trio set off, heading north. After several hours Cloot flew back to Tor, landing on his arm.
‘Something wrong?’ Cyrus asked Tor casually, who shook his head as if to say he did not know. It was not usual for Cloot to sit on his arm.
Cloot perched quietly for a short while. I didn’t tell you this earlier because I needed to think on it. The falcon fixed Tor with a single yellow eye. Lys came to me last night.
Tor pulled harshly on Timara’s reins and she obediently stopped her gentle canter.
‘Something is wrong,’ said Cyrus, halting his own horse.
Tor spoke aloud. ‘Cloot’s only just decided to mention that Lys paid him a visit last night.’
Cyrus did not seem overly surprised. ‘And?’
We’re waiting, Tor said to Cloot across the link.
The bird ignored his tone. A few miles to the west of here is the fringe of the Great Forest. She wants us to head that way.
And I suppose there was no explanation why as usual, Tor snapped.
Well actually, now you mention it, I think she thought we might like to take a woodland picnic with her. The falcon flew off, his sarcastic reply burning Tor’s cheeks red.
‘Tell me,’ said Cyrus flatly.
‘Apparently our lady friend would like us to head west for a while until we reach the fringe of the Great Forest.’
‘And?’
‘That’s it. That’s all we know.’
Something in the young man’s troubled expression warned Cyrus not to press it further. ‘Fine. I know where we’re supposed to go. The forest curves around about three or four miles slightly west of here and then it bends back around sharply. We should be able to get there by this evening if we ride briskly.’
He sounded like a true soldier. The
re was no emotion in his voice and no longer any query in it. Tor was grateful for that much.
Hours before their first glimpse of the Great Forest, the three of them sensed its strange pull. Cyrus felt it more strongly than his companions and, as they began to skirt the fringe of the woodland, he became quieter. By the time the afternoon had sunk into chilly late evening, he was completely silent. Tor was concerned. Since they had decided to obey Lys, Cyrus had kept up a much needed narrative on Palace gossip to distract all of them from more sinister thoughts of where this strange adventure was leading them. Now that Cyrus had fallen into this mood it stirred new anxieties.
What do we do? Tor asked Cloot.
We shouldn’t enter yet, I don’t think. Lys had a particular spot she wanted us to find. We’re close though—I feel it.
Well, how will you know it?
Trust me. She’ll show us.
Cloot landed on Tor’s shoulder. He had ranged high and broad from his friends all day and it was comforting to have him back Tor admitted silently.
Right now, I’d say we make camp for the night and tackle the forest in the morning. Cyrus is behaving oddly and the dark can play tricks on men. This place is enchanted enough without one of us turning strange.
Tor nodded. ‘Right,’ he said aloud and rather too cheerily, hoping to snap Cyrus out of his brooding. ‘I’ll collect some firewood.’
I’m off to find some dinner, Cloot called, already way above the treeline. Stay alert, he added.
Tor busied himself with setting and lighting the fire but he too felt the forest around him, almost calling to him. He remembered the first time he had sensed its power, that day when Cloot had transformed. At that time he had felt unnerved by its power; now he felt protected by it.
He looked over at Cyrus who was going about his chores more out of habit it seemed rather than out of any conscious thought.
When they were comfortable, warm and had finished chewing on their dried meat and hunks of cheese and bread, Tor began to hum an old song which his mother used to sing. It felt comforting amongst the sensations of the forest’s constant calling and the strange disquiet that troubled Cyrus. His voice was pleasant enough and he continued to hum the lullaby as he readied himself for sleep. When he looked up to wish Cyrus a good night’s rest, he was surprised to see the soldier was weeping softly. He stopped his tune.
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