Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

  Would here be suitable for your camp tonight? Solyana asked politely.

  Cyrus saw the food laid out beneath one of the trees. He snorted and shook his head in amazement. ‘Tell our wolf it’s perfect, thank you.’

  She seemed to understand without Tor interpreting and wished them all a pleasant evening before disappearing into the woodland. Cyrus busied himself with making a fire whilst Tor sorted through the provisions for their evening meal.

  They did not need their bedrolls. The spongy floor of the forest was comfortable enough and this time Cloot relaxed completely, drifting into a bird’s doze whilst the two men chatted quietly after eating. Tor agreed to sing and chose a lusty ballad about a man who loved every woman he met. This amused Cyrus and it was good to hear him laugh again. Soon enough they slept deeply.

  The second day followed a similar pattern with Solyana arriving as they broke their fast. They enjoyed an uneventful and peaceful day of walking, the wolf guiding them northwards along a path which seemed to build itself a few steps ahead of them.

  They did not feel tired, as they had done the previous evening, and were in excellent spirits when they finally fell asleep amongst the security of the trees.

  This night, however, both men dreamed.

  18

  The Story of Orlac

  Tor could feel the presence of Lys as he slept. When she finally made herself known to him he was neither shocked nor surprised; he was glad. He had many questions for her.

  She did not speak at first. Still asleep, he could sense that the stones tied in the pouch around his neck were blazing dazzling colours. Tor could feel power. Immense power.

  Hello, Lys.

  I’m impressed you know me, said the voice which was as delicate as snowfall.

  I’ve been expecting you, he continued, surprising himself at how calm he sounded.

  I’m sorry I took so long to make myself known to you, Tor.

  He liked her calling him Tor. Will you enlighten me?

  As best I can at this time, she breathed softly. Ask your questions, Tor Gynt.

  How long have you known me?

  All of your life. Before you were born even.

  He ignored the obvious protests he wanted to make.

  The people who raised me, Jhon and Ailsa Gynt, are caretakers, not my real mother and father.

  Is that a question? she said gently.

  He felt a flush of embarrassment and tried again.

  Who are my real parents?

  Your father’s name is Darganoth and your mother is Evagora.

  Are they sentient?

  Indeed. Her voice betrayed the humour she found in his query.

  I was told they are dead. Are they?

  Now she was more serious. They live.

  That shocked him. He decided to leave that topic for now.

  But they love you eternally, she added.

  He pressed on. Is Alyssa alive?

  Lys seemed keen to answer this; he could hear her enthusiasm. She is alive. She is a most captivating woman.

  Does she ever think about me? He had not meant to ask this.

  She used not to be able to get through a day without you filling her head. Now she thinks on you rarely. She finds it painful. Alyssa has a new life now.

  So she loves another? Even after five years the pain was hard to endure.

  I did not say that. Alyssa has not loved any other man romantically since you. However, she is happy in the life she is living.

  Can I find her? Will you help me?

  Yes to both questions. Tor, there is something we must share before you wake.

  Knowing he still had so much more to learn from her and no guarantee they may speak again soon, or ever, Tor hurried on.

  Why am I so special, Lys?

  We are all special, Tor.

  Fool! He was cross with himself for this clumsiness. Am I destined for something special, Lys?

  Most certainly.

  Will you tell me what?

  Let’s make that your last question for now, child. Instead of me answering it, allow me to show you something.

  As he slumbered, a breeze blew across his face and mists swirled about him. It felt suddenly cool. As the scene cleared, he found he was looking at a palace; more sumptuous a place he could not imagine. He travelled its marbled corridors and saw into its grand halls and rooms. Everyone in the palace was supremely beautiful, all shapes and sizes, all colours—these people were magnificent. But although he saw much, Tor could hear nothing.

  Now he was staring into a light-filled room with many arched windows, a glorious mosaic floor and tall columns of marble. He saw a woman who had just given life to a golden-haired son. The baby was crying and the woman wept with joy, the pain of birth already forgotten as she held her perfect child. Tor watched a tall man rush into the room. The midwives quickly covered her unwashed body and all of them were on their knees within seconds, heads bowed to the man.

  He had dark wavy hair and brilliant blue eyes. He knelt by the bed and stroked the woman’s flaxen hair and gently held the tiny hand of his newborn, pride etched across his handsome face.

  Suddenly Tor was outside. He saw trumpeters but again could not hear them. A multitude of people had gathered. The couple emerged onto a balcony; their son—slightly older now—was in his father’s arms. The people below cheered and clapped. Tor watched the couple become increasingly tense as the constant stream of visitors and requests to show off the boy showed no sign of abating.

  Tor guessed the babe was a prince. The king and queen obviously had no other children which explained the hysteria surrounding this child’s birth.

  Good, he heard Lys whisper in his mind.

  He saw the mother crying. She was explaining something to the king who was nodding. Next, Tor saw the royals strolling in a lovely, sunlit wood. Just the three of them, no entourage; they were happy, peaceful together at last. The child had grown. Now he was an infant, gurgling cheerfully in his mother’s arms.

  Ahead, shimmering into new existence, appeared a glade even more beautiful than the wood in which the royals walked. They stopped. Their astonishment turned to curiosity…or at least, for the king. The queen was cautious.

  Tor wished he could hear their conversation but he could only watch. There was a stream, its sparkling waters impossibly bright. Flowers he could imagine existing only in a dream bobbed gracefully in a light breeze; he imagined he could smell their heady, exotic fragrance.

  The king pulled his queen gently towards the glade. Tor sensed danger; he wanted to shout at them not to go there. Lys soothed him. It was a feathery touch; there one moment and the next, gone.

  I’m showing you something which happened a long, long time ago, Tor.

  Why?

  Because you must know this.

  Well, how—

  Hush. Watch…she urged.

  The royals were in the glade now. The boy sat between his father’s legs. Tor stared at the contrast between them; no one would imagine them to be of the same flesh and blood. The child had golden hair in soft curls and violet eyes whilst the king’s hair was so dark as to be almost black and his eyes blue.

  Lys, something bad is going to happen. Tor hardly dared to watch.

  Lys said nothing. Tor’s stomach tightened as he watched the queen lie down. The king was already dozing and it was not long before her lids finally closed too.

  Tor’s attention was now riveted on the child who had drifted away from his parents, gathering flowers. He was a very beautiful child and Tor imagined he would be a striking man. No wonder the parents were proud of him. He was the perfect prince and heir to their throne…wherever that was.

  Tor could not tell who owned the arm which reached from the shadows behind the child. The boy did not see it; he was busy. His mother awoke with a start and looked around wildly, waking the king as she called out his name. Just as the queen turned to look at her son, who was holding out a bunch of three brightly coloured blooms to her, the
intruder gripped the child. And then the arms were pulling the prince back through a grey misted hole.

  Tor found himself on the other side of that hole and watched in horror as the thieves, half men, half beasts, came running out of a small copse and off down a dusty road. They jollied each other along, the prince in their arms.

  Tor had a moment for only one brief glance. Beyond the rent in a transparent, shimmering sheen he could see them: the queen slumped to her knees; the king, his handsome face a mask of anguish.

  Now Tor saw the thieves dressed differently and in a new location. They placed a bundle behind a bush and then walked quickly to a nearby inn. They were clearly not locals but no one in the inn seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. They each downed a cup of ale quickly and then one pointed to a man slumped at a table. The other grinned. They walked over and must have asked if they could join him. He seemed not to answer but they sat anyway. Something about the man tweaked at Tor’s consciousness. Through sunken, grief-ridden eyes the third man watched the newcomers. He appeared to have been drowning his sorrows at the inn.

  The three talked for a while and the man’s body language suggested to Tor that he was taking greater interest in what the two thieves were saying. The three looked around self-consciously then the third man knocked knuckles with one of the thieves. Tor recalled this as an ancient practice used in centuries previous for everything from a welcome to agreeing on a deal.

  It seemed a deal had been struck.

  The man followed the thieves. In the dark they all glanced around again nervously. The bundle was handed over. The familiar-looking man pulled back the blanket and Tor watched his face soften into a smile which he knew well but could not place.

  The man fumbled as he pulled out a pouch. He tossed it to the thieves who disappeared swiftly.

  Now Tor saw him entering a house. A woman came into view. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a yell. The man was talking fast and the child was scooped into her arms.

  Something about the man niggled again at Tor’s mind. He did not recognise him but he looked so familiar. He watched the couple caress the child lovingly and kiss him, just as he had watched the boy’s real parents do minutes earlier.

  The vision faltered as the mists returned and Tor was alone with Lys again. He desperately wanted to see what happened to the child.

  You were right, Tor. The boy is a prince. But no ordinary prince. He is a prince of the Host.

  Of the gods? Tor said incredulously.

  Yes. There is a phenomenon, Lys continued, known as The Glade. It chooses when it appears, where it appears and to whom among the Host it appears. It is a highly magical place for it has the ability to touch other worlds. The Host warns its people never to be enticed into The Glade. The king should have known better…did know better.

  They’re gods, Lys—why couldn’t they save their son?

  Because gods and their vast powers are not allowed to enter other worlds. It can unbalance both worlds involved and destroy their very fabric.

  Why did the child not create havoc then?

  Oh, he did, she sighed. But let me explain. A newborn is not aware of his powers. He is also too small to have much effect. When the child was taken through he hardly disturbed the land he entered. If the king or queen had done anything other than watch, their world would be dying now—and yours, she explained.

  And the thieves who reached through to snatch the boy?

  They are called Scavengers. Members of a race who lived off the crumbs of others. Drifters with no land to call their own. Petty thieves. Over the centuries they have died out.

  So, what happened to the boy?

  She sighed. He grew up oblivious to his history, as were his new parents. They also chose not to tell him that he was not their true son.

  Was he empowered?

  Mightily so, Tor. Fortunately these people were sentient; the father was a particularly gifted wielder. You must understand these were times of extraordinary harmony and tolerance when sentient people lived happily alongside the non-empowered. No Inquisitors in those days.

  Tor could not imagine a world without Inquisitors.

  Lys continued, quickly now. He grew up an angry young man but never really knew why. His parents decided the best place for him was the Academie at a place called Goldstone. You know it today as Caremboche. He was enrolled as an acolyte under the Master Wizard Joromi. All seemed fine for a year or two but the prince became bored, restless with his tasks. He was far more powerful than anyone had ever imagined and as soon as he was old enough to grasp this he began to use that power against the harmony of the Academie.

  They had no answer to it. The boy had become too unpredictable, too dangerous. The elders decided on a dangerous scheme to link and use their combined power against the acolyte to stem his flow of power. It had never been tried before—it had never been needed before—but if they could draw on ancient theory and Quell the boy, then they would have time to consider what should be done permanently.

  The boy learned of the plan. Years of anger manifested themselves in the most horrific devastation of Goldstone.

  He levelled a city? If Tor had been awake his eyes would have been shining with awe.

  And killed more than two thousand people in moments, Lys replied sadly. I have dwelled too long on this tale, Tor. Allow me to bring it to a close quickly. I visited the boy’s earthly father and nearly killed him with the shock of my story.

  I told him about his son, that he was the prince of gods, trapped in a mortal life. We devised a plan. It was audacious. The father lured his son to a place not far from Goldstone called Rune, a rare portal through which we could communicate with the Host.

  The father told the boy his story and compelled him to talk with his true parents. It was a terrifying betrayal on our part. There was no talk. Instead, the Host linked and, using the father as a medium, they weaved a most astounding and complex Quelling.

  I will never forget the way the son screamed his despair when he realised what was happening to him.

  Could he not just…

  Go back? Lys said.

  Yes.

  Tor heard her sad sigh. As I explained, transference between worlds is too dangerous. Instead, the Host placed the mightiest of enchantments upon their prince. In their own way, they were protecting him.

  Tor frowned. Lys, who are you?

  He thought he could sense her smiling. I roam between the worlds, Tor. I do not belong with the Host, nor am I one of your people. I am a sort of caretaker of worlds. I help to keep the balance.

  Tor could tell there was more but she was choosing her words with care. She continued.

  I assembled ten guardians, one from each of the major peoples alive in the Four Kingdoms at the time. This group became the Paladin. They took their cargo, in his enchanted prison of light, to a secret place.

  You mean he’s still alive?

  He is alive. The Paladin guard him still but they are failing. For centuries he has pitched himself against the magics of the Host and the stamina and powers of his guardians. Slowly he is winning the duel. He knows no mercy. He feeds off his own hate, his own despair of betrayal by both his fathers and his determination for retribution.

  Tor swallowed hard. Will he break free?

  Almost certainly. And he will return to Tallinor to finish what he began.

  Lys, Tor breathed hard as panic gripped him, why are you telling me his story?

  Because you must stop him, Torkyn Gynt, she said, fading.

  Wait! he cried. What is his name?

  In your world he goes by the name of Orlac.

  Tor felt Lys pulling away from him. Consciousness tugged at the fringe of his mind. He was waking.

  Lys…please. Tell me the name of his earthly father. I must know it.

  From very far away she whispered into his mind. His name is Merkhud.

  Tor awoke.

  Cyrus also dreamed. Lys came to him and spoke as tenderly as a lover.
/>   Solyana will come for you soon, my brave soldier.

  Must I follow her? His voice was edged with grief.

  It is your destiny, she replied.

  I would wish to stay close to Tor.

  No, Cyrus. Your time with Tor is finished for now. He has his path to follow and you have yours. You have a far greater task ahead of you now. It is the most precious of gifts we bestow on you.

  I’m scared, Lys. I have faced death many times but this time I’m scared of it.

  Your destiny is not to die, friend of the Heartwood. You must live long. The forest embraces you as its own. It loves you. You held strong and sincere for the Paladin. Only three of them hold now. Soon Orlac will break free and we have other tasks to perform before he does. Yours is the most important task of all.

  Cyrus had no idea what she was talking about though something stirred distantly in his memory when she spoke of the Paladin.

  Lys…Cyrus was astonished to hear the fear in his voice. Who am I?

  You are one of the Paladin. You are a guardian. She is here, Cyrus; be calm. She too loves you.

  Cyrus looked across the clearing. He could see Tor curled on the ground nearby and all around familiar things including Solyana who stood silently. Her eyes regarded him with abiding friendship.

  Will you join me? Her smooth tone reassured him.

  Farewell, Cyrus, Lys called.

  He had forgotten what he needed to know. It had fled from his mind when Solyana spoke. Instead he followed her slowly, as if his feet hardly touched the soft earth of the forest floor. Solyana padded silently just a step or so ahead. Cyrus rested his hand on the thick silver fur of her back. She did not mind. The wolf led him along a special path which unravelled in front of them and soon led him far from Tor. Cyrus hoped Cloot was paying attention but somehow he knew the bird would not witness his departure.

  He sighed as his dream-walk led him into a clearing. The air was perfumed. It seemed a thousand flowers had suddenly released their fragrance to welcome him.