‘Thank you for this,’ he said, after she turned from paying the stableman. ‘Ylena has money. Use it. Remember what I said about how fragile she is — she may not be ready to care properly for herself anyway and your companionship will be a blessing.’
Elspyth had slept only lightly. Wyl’s story had left her mind reeling with possibilities and no little terror. Ylena’s story touched her heart. She wanted to believe that Lothryn would survive his ordeal but to hear of Ylena’s husband so brutally murdered made her shudder.
‘Now, have you got that letter for the Duke?’
She tapped her skirt pocket. ‘I could hardly forget it having watched you labour over it this morning.’
Wyl grinned. ‘I’m better with the sword.’
‘Are you leaving now, then?’ she asked. She did not mean for it to sound so sad.
He nodded. ‘I must.’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you!’ Elspyth suddenly said, reddening at her oversight. ‘I overheard some travellers in the inn this morning. They were from Pearlis. Apparently the King is preparing to make a state visit to Briavel.’
Wyl looked mortified. ‘When?’ he said, grabbing her tiny shoulders.
‘I don’t know. I got the impression it was imminent, if not already happening. They seemed excited, talking up a possible union between the realms and peace at last.’
‘I have to go,’ he said, his mind racing. ‘Do your best to travel with people. If you get the opportunity just link up with others headed south. A woman travelling alone is vulnerable.’
‘Wyl, I’ll be all right. Just send word as you promised. I have no money to give you for your journey.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, his thoughts already in Briavel. He leaned down and kissed her and was delighted when she suddenly hugged him fiercely.
‘Be safe, Wyl.’
‘You keep yourself and Ylena out of trouble. Just get to Felrawthy. I’ll meet you there.’
She nodded and let him go, mustering a brave smile as she waved.
THIRTY-THREE
WYL PUSHED HIS HORSE hard. Once again he relied on intuition to guide him over the terrain and was grateful that the spirit of Koreldy lived on, albeit vaguely. He rode diagonally across the counties for two days in a south-easterly route until he hit the border between Morgravia and Briavel. Sleeping rough did not bother Wyl, although he imagined he looked quite a sight when the Briavellian Guard finally picked him up less than half a day’s ride into Valentyna’s realm. It reassured him that the security in place was at least working.
His worn and dusty appearance seemed to belie his story that the Queen was expecting him. However, Koreldy’s high-mannered tone and clipped accent reinforced his claim of noble status and discouraged the Guard from ignoring him. He knew his luck was holding when a man called Liryk recognised his name; even better, the man had been briefed by Valentyna that should Koreldy make application he was to be brought to Werryl immediately.
With Liryk’s sanction he was permitted to join this party of guards heading back to the city with taxes and missives from various counties. It was an uneventful couple of days during which Wyl could eat well and sleep without worry of ambush by bandits or the like. In truth he rather enjoyed being amongst the company of soldiers again. He deliberately did not foist Romen’s large personality onto them and was quick to share the general workload of making and breaking camp, keeping company with the foot soldiers. Mostly he kept himself to himself.
Wyl only discovered towards the end of the journey that Liryk was not just a senior member of the military but in fact Commander of the Briavellian Guard. He gleaned this information over a meal at an inn obviously quite used to the comings and goings of soldiers, for the serving girls smiled and joked with the men.
‘You’re rather lofty in status to be doing this sort of task,’ Wyl commented, tucking into his roast chicken.
Liryk had chosen the pie and was neatly shovelling in forkfuls of beef and gravy. He saved the pastry for last and Wyl smiled. It was an identical trait of Ylena’s. He wondered how she fared and prayed to Shar that she was well enough in her mind to welcome Elspyth into her life. He realised Liryk was talking.
‘…I thrive on it, though. Hate being cooped at the palace. I take these duties whenever it is feasible, although increasingly I think they will become fewer. I need to be around her majesty.’
Wyl nodded. He already liked his man very much and was glad that Valentyna had his years and wisdom to draw on.
‘Besides,’ Liryk continued, ‘it’s a nightmare organising so many men to return to Werryl. I have been personally rounding them up because I want as many as we can spare back in the city for this state visit by the Morgravian King.’
‘You don’t trust him?’
‘Apart from the fact that we are sworn enemies, you mean?’ Both men laughed. Liryk waved his fork at Wyl. ‘You peaceful Grenadynes could never understand the animosity between our realms. Suddenly we have to act courteously and be diplomatic when only a few years ago they slaughtered us on the battlefield. I was there — I witnessed hundreds of our young bloods die — and for what? So Morgravia can say they won this time! Pah! I may not care much for the young King but I support the notion of this marriage because it means peace.’
Wyl put down his chicken leg. ‘How advanced are negotiations?’
Liryk pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry, Koreldy, I can’t discuss that matter with you but suffice to say that most of our people would welcome the union for all the right reasons.’
Wyl nodded. ‘I understand. When do we get there?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
‘And the King?’
‘Expecting his arrival in a week or thereabouts. Apparently he’s slowing his journey deliberately to call in on towns along the way.’
‘So they can all fawn over the man they hate,’ Wyl said, wishing he had not.
Liryk eyed him. ‘We’ll be making our last stop at Crowyll. It’s a major town about ten miles north of the city. Has the best brothel in Briavel, by the way. You should visit, Koreldy … get rid of that bile on your liver,’ he said.
Liryk was as good as his word. Wyl had not visited many brothels in his day but he soon realised that the elegant stone building at Crowyll with a sign which read Forbidden Fruit enclosed one of the most salubrious establishments of its kind in any realm. It seemed to him that the Briavellians were not as tight-laced about sex as their more powerful neighbour. These were people who made a point of enjoying all of life’s pleasures and he was taken aback at how Liryk encouraged his men, many of them married, to spend a few hours with a desirable woman.
Wyl commented on this and Liryk shrugged. ‘These men have been on the road for many weeks. They need to relax before they head back to the strict duties imposed because of the royal visit. Normally they would get some time off but not on this occasion. I just think they deserve a night of, er … relaxation. Then they will work hard for me.’
Wyl felt his own strict upbringing coming to the fore. ‘I wonder if their wives feel the same way.’
Liryk laughed. ‘I’m surprised at you, Koreldy. You look like a man of the world. What the women don’t know cannot hurt them.’
‘And you? Do you intend to partake of the, er … relaxation on offer?’ Wyl asked, casting a general gaze around the Welcome Chamber, as it was called. Here the men were invited to enjoy a few ales or wines, some songs from the women and then move on to more intimate activities. In Briavel, as in Morgravia, these activities normally began with a soak to be followed by an oil and smoothing.
‘Of course, but then I’m not married and so do not suffer even the slightest guilt,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my heart set on that rather interesting creature in the corner … she looks like she’d be good value, although I fear she has eyes only for you, Koreldy.’
Wyl grunted a dismissal but looked towards her anyway. She was intriguing. Not traditionally beautiful in the way that Ylena could turn heads, this woman was
striking by her sheer force of presence as much as handsome looks. She was watching him as she entertained a small group of men, tilting her head as she laughed at their jests and flicking her shoulder-length hair coquettishly. Most Briavellian women preferred to wear their hair long. Still, hers was attractive enough and somehow it suited her tall, strong build.
He continued to stare, fascinated by her feline manner. There was no other way to describe her liquid movement. He sensed she could move fast even though she gave the impression of being unhurried. As she fetched drinks for her guests, he noticed she moved as lightly and lithely as a dancer … or even as one trained in what was known as the Simple Art. Gueryn had never had much time for a style of fighting without weaponry — the hands and feet were used to inflict injury — or indeed any protection, relying instead on speed and strength. Consequently Wyl had never learned the techniques — although he had intended to some day. Many of the younger soldiers coming up through the ranks had studied the Simple Arts and Wyl had seen for himself the damage such skills could cause to an enemy during a fighting exhibition in Pearlis. He had promised himself that he would acquire the techniques — once the royal tourney was over. He felt sad now to think that he no longer possessed that young, agile body and would probably never learn those skills.
The woman’s limbs were long and angular. Wyl could see a sculpting of muscle on her bare arms and her belly was flat and tight. Here was someone who perhaps took care to keep herself trim, supple and strong. He looked away, embarrassed, when she caught him staring. Romen would not look away, he admonished himself. Romen would meet her gaze and return it with lust.
Wyl was disappointed with himself as once again a nagging thought nudged at his mind. The longer he lived inside Romen, the less of Romen there was. When he first moved across, everything that was Wyl felt tightly screwed in a ball and he had depended on the Grenadyne’s personality and character to carry him. Increasingly, it was Wyl who was shining through and it was becoming harder, sometimes impossible, to find Koreldy within. Did this mean that Romen was finally lost? Had what had been left just evaporated over time?
Answers would come only from Myrren’s father, the manwitch, as Widow Ilyk had cautioned.
Someone accidentally elbowed him as they walked by and it brought him out of his thoughts. He found his gaze once again drawn helplessly towards the woman. He noticed her eyes were a soft murky brown, and with the darkly golden hair, it was an enticing mix. None of her features were particularly beautiful either he had to admit. It was more her vivaciousness and mannerisms which were so appealing. Confidence was not lacking either and she held her audience rapt with what Wyl assumed was witty conversation. Her companions seemed to be laughing a great deal.
Men around the chamber finally began to drift away with chosen partners. The woman deliberately excused herself from the attentions of several men and found a reason to approach Wyl.
‘You don’t look like you belong in this group,’ she said. She had a low voice, oozing appeal. ‘But you are most welcome. It’s a treat to have someone so attractive visit us.’
Wyl had no retort for such directness and desperately wished Romen would surface to save him. His command was ignored and he watched a slow grin move across her face.
‘Where are you from, stranger?’
He was glad to be on safe ground with a question he could answer by rote. ‘Er, Grenadyn.’
‘Then you are a long way from home. Do you have a name?’
‘Koreldy!’ someone answered for him. It was Liryk, who appeared to be in a suddenly expansive mood. Wyl felt sure the older man was nothing like this back at the palace. ‘Don’t worry with him, my dear. Us older men are much more fun.’ He winked.
But she did not see it. Her gaze had not moved from Wyl and he felt compelled to answer a question he was not sure had been asked. ‘Look you two go right ahead. I’m happy savouring this rather superb Alsava. I haven’t tasted such a good wine in many months,’ he lied, instantly regretting such a lame remark.
‘There, you see,’ Liryk said and beamed at the woman. ‘Now what’s your name, my lovely?’
‘I’m called Hildyth,’ she replied, still watching Wyl with narrowed, searching eyes.
Liryk wasted no further time in conversation. ‘Come, Hildyth, we have only a few hours.’ And he led the way.
She turned back. ‘Pity,’ she said to Wyl. ‘I think we might have enjoyed each other.’
‘Next time, perhaps,’ he said, regaining some composure.
‘I hope that’s a promise.’ Her voice made him feel hot in places he preferred not to.
He nodded and again the wry smile hinted at her mouth as she turned and left him with his wine.
Wyl felt out of sorts after his meeting with Hildyth. He did not feel like going back to the inn where Liryk had organised for them to stay. Instead he made the lonely walk back a few miles to the field where some of the foot soldiers had made camp, far preferring the company of these men right now to a whore or his own troubled thoughts.
The next morning, when the small company had reunited, Wyl was astonished to see Liryk — normally so neat and tidy — looking much the worse for wear after his night in Crowyll.
The elder soldier spotted him. ‘Shar’s Mercy, man, you’re safe!’
‘Of course. What’s happened?’
‘There was an incident at the inn where we were staying. Where were you anyway?’
‘I came back here. I didn’t feel like sharing my own company last night.’
‘Good job you did too. There was a fire. I thought we’d lost you.’
Wyl frowned. ‘We saw some smoke — is everyone safe?’
Liryk sighed. ‘Yes, our boys were vigilant. Even on these occasions I post lookouts and so the fire was noticed early. Lucky for you that you stayed at camp.’
‘Oh?’ Wyl asked.
‘The fire broke out right near your room. There’s nothing left of that wing of the inn. Your room was gutted and collapsed first.’
‘How did it start?’
The soldier shrugged. ‘No one seems to know. An oil lamp left unattended, someone said, but it’s just a thought. There’s no proof. Anyway, we leave now.’
Wyl thought no more about the incident, his spirits lifting at the thought of seeing Valentyna again.
The assassin stood alongside the rest of the onlookers, making similar noises of despair and disgust that Crowyll’s Old Oak inn had suffered such a blow. They were all waiting with morbid interest to see the charred remains of whichever poor sods had been trapped by the fire. The innkeeper stood with them, assuring the townsfolk that the inn was relatively empty the previous night — just a few soldiers staying. He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted from a night of fighting the blaze. Fortunately for him, the section of the building damaged was separated by a walkway to the main inn.
‘We did a check this morning. Every guest bar one is accounted for,’ he said.
‘Who?’ someone asked.
‘Commander Liryk said it was a stranger, not a soldier. He was travelling with them. A person from Grenadyn — goes by the name of Koreldy,’ he answered, eager to allay fears that one of their own may have perished.
It would be tragic for business if word got out that he was careless with his lamps. The innkeeper could not understand it. He had checked everything before turning in for the night. It was ritual for him to walk the length of each floor, trimming wicks, blowing out candles mistakenly left in corridors by guests. Even more baffling for him was the fact that he only kept a few oil lamps burning at any one time and he did not remember lighting one that previous evening. Perhaps one of the girls had but why would it have been burning near that particular room? He had to accept he had been tired and not thinking altogether clearly but he could not even remember seeing the distinctive stranger return to his room that night.
One of his own people trotted up. ‘Innkeeper Jon.’
He came out of his grim thoughts and looked up. ‘Any n
ews?’
‘None. We’ve picked through the wreckage. We can’t salvage anything, sir.’
‘I reckoned as much. What about the …’ he hesitated, ‘body,’ he finally said, mindful of those listening.
‘No sign of that. If the Grenadyne was in the room, he’s gone up in smoke with it.’
The carefully eavesdropping assassin frowned and turned away. It had been risky but worth it to ignite oil at the door of Koreldy’s room and again just beneath his room in the empty chamber below. The added precaution of beginning a fire on the bottom floor beneath his window was inspired. He had no easy means of escape. Hopefully all signs of Romen Koreldy had gone up in flames, as the lad had said. However, this assassin was too thorough for presumptions.
She wanted her other half of the gold which could be collected from Jessom when he came into Briavel any day now with King Celimus for what everyone anticipated would be a betrothal visit. She wanted to believe her victim was nothing more than ash but deep down her instincts told her otherwise. She left the gawking audience to return to her rooms feeling unsettled.
On the way, alert to her inner voice of caution — for she never took chances with her prey — she concluded that it would be prudent to remain in this town until she had gleaned word that Koreldy was definitely dead.
THIRTY-FOUR
FYNCH BURIED HIS SMALL hand into the ruff of fur encircling Knave’s neck. The dog turned and looked at him — deep brown eyes all knowing. It was as though the animal sensed his moods, his thoughts. Even more astonishing was the fact that increasingly Knave seemed to be able to assist with Fynch’s decision-making. As the boy pondered his problems, he felt that Knave could tap into his feelings … press thoughts and notions into his mind.
He did not know when this began to occur and he could not explain himself, so he did not try, although he had admitted as much to Valentyna. To tell any others would be to bring down much ridicule upon himself. It would be a ludicrous claim anyway amongst people who no longer believed in magic. Magic was the stuff of myth. Tales to scare little ones and give the bards something with which to spice their lyrics.
The Quickening Page 43