The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Obey him, bow to him!

  It was his neighbour who broke the spell. The old soldier who had been standing in front of him in the line outside the cathedral.

  ‘Bow, damn you,’ he growled beneath his breath and mercifully grabbed Romen’s arm to pull him not only downwards but to his senses as well.

  Wyl dropped to Romen’s knee and bowed fully to the King.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered to the soldier.

  Seemingly satisfied but wearing an unreadable expression, Celimus at last sat. Soft music immediately erupted from a choir on the gallery level above. Their voices soared in the cathedral as though angels were singing. People stood straight and the line resumed its shuffle around the body, the music provoking tears now.

  At the head of the corpse Wyl looked down upon the closed eyes, the ones which hid the mystery of Myrren’s gift. Ginger lashes lay like soft down against the tops of the dead man’s cheeks — his cheeks. How deeply sad he suddenly felt for himself.

  Dead but not dead. Trapped as Wyl and yet free to be Romen.

  Grief betrayed him now and Wyl had to recover quickly lest King Celimus notice genuine sorrow in Wyl Thirsk’s assassin. He strode away from the body, pleased to escape, throwing a glance towards the King who chose not to look his way.

  Many nobles had gathered. He noticed the Duke of Felrawthy was not present, probably still shoring up defences in the north, as was his duty to the Crown. The Duke’s absence was probably a blessing in the circumstances, considering his son’s fate, although the King still desperately needed the support of the influence Jeryb Donal wielded in the north. He wondered what lies Celimus had contrived to send to the Duke regarding Alyd’s death to avoid jeopardising that relationship. Perhaps the King was beginning to regret his vengeful decision to end the young man’s life?

  The service began and pulled Wyl from his musings. The holy men said all the usual things and then the King made a flowery speech lauding the virtues of Morgravia’s favourite man of the military. Music, pomp, ceremony — just as Celimus had promised. Once the body was finally shrouded, later to be laid in the family vault at Stoneheart with all the other Thirsks who had served Morgravia, the service concluded, and was followed by a funereal feast which would stretch long into the afternoon.

  ‘Sit next to me, Romen,’ Celimus offered as a rare generosity, obviously excited by the closing of a chapter. He was free now to dominate the Legion.

  Wyl reluctantly joined him, wondering how quickly he might make his escape. He pretended to eat the food and sipped frequently from his cup yet hardly took any of the wine into his mouth. He would need a clear head later.

  Celimus leaned towards him and whispered, ‘I’ve a good mind to burn the body.’

  Wyl pushed away his startled expression. ‘Oh? Why?’ he asked in Romen’s casual way.

  ‘I hate them all grieving like that over him. I wish to rid Morgravia of its memory.’

  Wyl felt ill. Would Celimus really open the tomb later and burn my body? Burning was considered unsavoury by all Morgravians. It was reserved for witches and traitors. The irony was not lost on him.

  He slung his arm over his chair; a typically uninhibited pose of Romen’s. ‘I wouldn’t, sire. You may just incite trouble. Why not simply send the corpse to the family home? Where does he hail from anyway?’

  ‘Argorn,’ Celimus said, curling his lip. ‘A sleepy, hideously backward region of the realm which yields halfwits and ugly, red-headed ingrates like those of the Thirsk line.’

  How Wyl held his temper he would never know. Bile rose in his throat and his fingers twitched near a fork which he would have gladly stabbed into the King’s throat.

  He managed a derisory response, however, that even Romen would have been proud of. ‘All the more reason to send the little troll back to where he belongs. Let him lie in exile,’ he offered, twirling his cup of wine instead of his fork.

  And now Celimus looked fully at him, just a tinge of gratitude in his expression. ‘Again you surprise me, Koreldy — this time with your insight.’

  ‘Oh, and when was the previous occasion I surprised you, sire?’ Wyl asked, knowing almost immediately it was a trap.

  ‘This morning, in the cathedral, when you took a sincerely long time to pay me due respect. Should I be worried about your loyalty?’

  Wyl took a silent steadying breath and then grinned expansively again. ‘I have none, sire … except to gold,’ he said. Celimus did not smile back. ‘To tell the truth, your majesty, I thought I was going to pass out in the cathedral,’ Wyl said, his mind moving fast now.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sire. I made little of my wound yesterday but the physic said it was deeper than I thought and he sutured it. He gave me two draughts of some potion. One to take during his ministrations and another to take this morning. I fear this morning’s concoction was a little too strong, and my apologies, majesty, but it took all of my wits to stop myself from falling cold to the ground.’

  ‘I see. Perhaps falling to the ground would have pleased me more than what appeared to be deliberate flouting of Stoneheart’s protocol.’

  Wyl shook his head vehemently. ‘No, sire, never. I am in your debt. And also to my neighbour who helped me when I asked for it. He assisted me to get to my knee.’

  And as fast as Celimus’s anger looked to stoke, it passed, much to Wyl’s relief. Already the incident seemed forgotten. The King waved away the apology and asked for a refill of their cups.

  ‘So tell me, Romen. Have you ravished the Lady Ylena?’

  Wyl coughed but masked it well. ‘Not yet, sire. She is still in some shock and behaving as much a corpse as her husband. She also smells as ripe as he.’

  Celimus did laugh at this. ‘So you are showing great patience, my friend. Is that right?’

  ‘I’ve given her until tonight, sire. Then I shall take her — from behind if necessary — so I don’t have to look upon that terrified, filthy face.’ He had never hated Celimus as much as he did at this moment.

  The King laughed again. ‘And when do you leave us?’

  ‘With your permission, your majesty, I thought I would enjoy your hospitality for another day,’ Wyl lied. ‘Tomorrow eve perhaps?’

  Celimus nodded. ‘Good. Let’s take a ride together tomorrow at dawn. You can see my falcons at work.’

  ‘Excellent, sire, now you must forgive me,’ Wyl said with absolutely no intention of remaining more than another hour at Stoneheart.

  ‘Oh, leaving our table early, Romen?’

  ‘Yes, majesty. I beg your indulgence. I am still feeling a little weak. I would rest and get ready to ride with you.’

  Celimus raised his cup to Romen and sipped. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall see you at dawn, sire,’ Wyl said, Romen’s disarming smile winning hearts around the table but not where it counted.

  As he strode from the hall, Celimus beckoned to one of his men. He had already formed an inner circle of sorts who clustered about him as private guards. None were from the Legion.

  ‘Your majesty?’

  ‘Jerico, do you see that man leaving the hall?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘He is preparing to depart Pearlis tomorrow eve — perhaps with a woman in tow. Once he leaves the city gates, I want you to follow him with several of our own and kill him. Kill them both if she’s with him. Do you understand?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘No trace is to be found of either, except his finger wearing the signet ring. That you will return as proof of your successful deed. He will have much gold about his person. Whatever you find, you may keep and split as you see fit.’

  The man called Jerico grinned. ‘Thank you, sire.’

  EIGHTEEN

  WYL AND KNAVE NAVIGATED their way to a little-used courtyard with a tiny arched entrance and a direct exit beyond Stoneheart’s walls. From past experience Wyl knew it would be patrolled only minimally. It was getting on to dusk, so light wa
s rapidly failing, and he was able to distract the single guard long enough in conversation for Knave to trot through the opening. The guard spotted the movement, however, and reacted predictably but Wyl just raised his eyebrows and said something derogatory about Stoneheart having too many dogs.

  The man looked worried and then explained that he recognised it as General Thirsk’s beast and perhaps he should have stopped it.

  ‘Well, don’t blame yourself, lad,’ Wyl said, reassuringly. ‘It’s making its bid for freedom. It no longer belongs here, what with its master dead.’ He shrugged.

  ‘You’re probably right, sir. It was a fearsome mongrel anyway. So are those directions helpful, sir? Can you find your way back to your chambers now?’

  ‘Definitely. My thanks for your help.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, sir,’ the guard said and returned to his post.

  Wyl had decided he would use the exit through this courtyard to get out of Stoneheart later when night would give him the shadows he needed. Another shadow, one which could move and melt easily into the darkness, was waiting outside. Knave had his instructions. He would be ready for them.

  Jorn had packed their few belongings into a cloth bag. He had also tossed in some fruit, cheeses, nuts and a couple of loaves.

  ‘Just to tide you through, sir,’ he said and Wyl realised the lad looked sad.

  ‘Jorn … look.’

  Wyl’s tone gave the youngster the courage he wanted. ‘Take me with you, Lord Koreldy, sir. I’ll be no problem, I promise. I can care for the Lady Ylena so you are free to do your business, sir.’

  The boy looked so desperate Wyl almost relented and then he remembered all that lay ahead.

  ‘Jorn, you’re a good lad and you’re needed at Stoneheart. Here,’ he said, handing him a parchment. ‘I’ve written a high recommendation to the seneschal — make sure he gets it soon,’ Wyl warned, knowing the name Koreldy would be blackened shortly but the lad would hopefully be forgotten in the scheme of things. ‘I can’t take you with me. Where I’m headed I need no companion, son. I hope you understand.’

  The youngster nodded but the disappointment was evident. It was Ylena who rescued Wyl. ‘When I get back to my family home, Jorn, I shall send for you. You will continue your training with us at Argorn.’

  The lad brightened immediately. ‘That would be grand, my lady, thank you. Where are you headed?’

  Wyl shook his head. ‘Not sure yet, Jorn. Probably north-west, somewhere very quiet. Rittylworth perhaps.’ He knew it was a mistake to have said that much. It put the lad in danger and compromised their security too.

  Jorn nodded. ‘I shall wait to hear, sir.’ He bowed to Ylena. ‘My lady.’

  She glanced at Romen and smiled sadly. Wyl wished he could ease her pain, just a little, by telling her that it was him, her brother, smiling back.

  Once Knave heard the low command whistle from his master he put on a big show for the terrified guard, growling and barking, running towards him at an insane speed and then swerving away. The man finally mustered enough courage to pick up rocks and hurl them into the darkness to where he thought the beast might be, then, rattled, he went to get help.

  In those few moments Wyl and Ylena slipped through the gate towards freedom. They were well clothed for travel on foot and their soft boots made no sound. Wyl knew Ylena would not be able to travel very far before needing rest. She was undernourished and still weak but he hoped she might at least make it to the next town where he could buy suitable horses. His aim was to walk as far as they could under cover of darkness and they did so in silence for a mile or more until Wyl felt himself relaxing as Stoneheart was put behind them.

  Knave emerged from the shadows of a hedgerow, a huge dark figure. ‘Good boy,’ Wyl said, patting his head.

  ‘I have no idea why that dog likes you. He hates just about everyone,’ Ylena commented absently, her voice still an otherworldly monotone.

  ‘So I hear. I guess I have the touch.’

  She remained silent.

  ‘Knave, now you go and find Fynch. Take him to Briavel. Keep him safe.’ He knelt down now and looked up into the large dog’s eyes. ‘Watch over her for me, boy.’ Wyl felt odd talking to the beast with such confidence, yet he felt strangely certain that the dog understood. The animal seemed to be as touched by enchantment as he was himself.

  The animal lingered just long enough for Ylena to touch its great head affectionately and then it loped off into the dark, presumably to catch up with Fynch.

  ‘Do you think he misses Wyl?’ she asked in her faraway voice.

  No point in answering. ‘Ylena, about your husband,’ Wyl said gently. ‘Where would you like us to lay him to rest?’

  She did not hesitate in her reply. ‘He must go home, Romen, to Felrawthy in the north. His family must know of this outrage. The Duke will respond as he sees fit.’

  Unlike his sister, Wyl did hesitate. He knew it would be unwise to incite an uprising of the nobility right now. There were too many unknowns. Who would replace Celimus? Would the nobles support such treachery — and why should they trust Romen Koreldy? And he had still to convince himself that, when it came to it, he could betray the Crown to which he had sworn unswerving allegiance. He returned his thoughts to Ylena. ‘Will you allow me to take him to his home?’

  ‘You would do this for me?’

  ‘Surely. You have suffered enough.’

  She considered his offer. ‘I would appreciate it but I will need you to tell the Duke and his family that I will travel to Felrawthy as soon as I can.’ Her voice turned hard. ‘We will mourn together and then we will make plans to make Celimus pay.’

  Wyl left it alone, as much as he wanted to caution her. ‘Good. Now about Argorn.’

  ‘Yes?’ She was all of a sudden focused. It was confusing for him.

  ‘I would prefer if you don’t return immediately,’ Wyl counselled, expecting a harsh reaction.

  It was not forthcoming. She spoke calmly. ‘Celimus will follow … is that your suspicion?’

  He nodded, impressed that she was, in spite of her weak and, he could tell, still addled state, able to follow his train his thought. ‘Once we’re discovered gone I cannot imagine he will just shrug his shoulders. Our sneaking out of Stoneheart will confirm that Romen Koreldy is a traitor to him. Now we can easily argue that you were forced to come with me but your life means nothing to him. Yes, I think he might follow the obvious trail to Argorn but it’s my intention that it will be a cold one.’

  ‘Where then do you suggest?’

  Once again Wyl was grateful for the glimpses of Romen’s memory that remained. ‘There’s a little known monastery at Rittylworth.’

  ‘Ah yes, I recall you mentioned it to Jorn.’

  ‘Hmm, I wish I hadn’t, to tell the truth. The fewer people who know the better.’

  ‘For how long would I remain there?’ Ylena asked evenly. Wyl was proud of her composure.

  ‘Long enough for your recall of recent events to dim, little one,’ he said.

  She looked up at him strangely.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

  Ylena shook her head as though clearing it of a bad thought. ‘Yes … well no. That was Wyl’s pet name for me. He always called me little one.’ She smiled sadly. ‘After our father died I used to climb into Wyl’s bed and he’d hug me tight and tell me not to cry. And then he’d spin me great tales of how I would be the most beautiful maiden in all of Stoneheart with one of its towers all to myself.’ Ylena choked back a quiet sob.

  Wyl wanted to bite his own tongue out. ‘The monks will be very kind to you at Rittylworth, I promise,’ he said, not that he could know this for sure. All he could pull from Romen’s mind was the name of the monastery — none of its inhabitants, though — so it was surprising this was where he felt inclined to flee. Fortunately he knew how to find Rittylworth itself. ‘Four to five moons perhaps and then we can bring you to Argorn. By then I will have organised proper protection for you as
well,’ he added.

  ‘Your plan is wise, Romen. I will do as you suggest, thank you.’

  He breathed out with relief.

  ‘And you?’ she said, unexpectedly. ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Back to Briavel. There is unfinished business there but first I must find a seer.’

  Ylena actually laughed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, just call me superstitious. We all are in my family,’ he lied.

  Ylena managed to make such good distance through the night that they reached Farnswyth in the early hours of the next day. They took a room at its least expensive inn in order to remain as anonymous as possible in the relatively small village. Wyl realised that Romen had been a man who could fit into most situations — as comfortable around royalty as he was simple folk — when he took so easily to swapping ribald jests with a pedlar who was treating himself to a night in a bed at the Ship Inn. It was not an especially clean establishment but Ylena did not make comment. She moved swiftly up to their airless room and threw open the small window; her only request was for fresh water in the jug.

  They slept for several hours and, after eating heartily of a surprisingly delicious lamb and potato stew, Ylena returned upstairs to rest again whilst Wyl headed out to buy horses. His choice was limited but he was not looking for quality animals. Right now he needed two serviceable nags who would get them to Rittylworth. He stocked up on food and water too, explaining to Ylena when he returned to the inn that he had no intention of risking being seen between this village and Rittylworth. This was usually a three-day ride but probably twice that if they did indeed go across country.

  ‘This is where I intend that our trail goes cold,’ he told Ylena. ‘I can’t be sure that tongues will not wag in this place if they are threatened with a pair of pincers,’ he added grimly. ‘We are not so forgettable, I’m afraid.’

  Ylena made no protest and Wyl felt once again proud of his sister as she resolutely climbed upon her dun-coloured horse and followed his lead.

  Wyl knew he was looking for something, a landmark of some kind, and hoped his sense of Romen was leading him correctly. Several hours’ brisk trotting from Farnswyth he found a well-concealed path. It was little more than a deer track but he instinctively knew this was what he had been searching for. Once they were shielded by the undergrowth, he stopped the horses and returned to the main road. Using a thin branch of leaves, he deliberately moved back a hundred paces or so, sweeping away their prints. Whatever new hoof prints came down that road would now predictably continue on to the next major town of Renkyn and lead any followers astray, whilst they would now swing north-west. He even took the precaution of bending a pair of saplings in front of the tiny pathway. It would not fool an experienced tracker but in poor light it was a reasonably effective concealment.