‘Six,’ Wyl said, keen to direct the conversation elsewhere. ‘I had only five. Where is your family home?’
‘Minlyton is the village I was raised in.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Wyl admitted.
‘I’m not surprised. It’s on a small island off the far north coast.’
Wyl’s every nerve sprang to high alert. ‘Oh? Which one?’ He hoped his voice sounded casual and that Aremys would not say the word he feared.
‘Grenadyn.’
Wyl flinched, and because Aremys had turned his dark gaze towards him, attempted to cover it by flicking away a few strands of hair that had escaped their bindings.
‘Do you know it?’ Aremys enquired.
‘Er… I’ve heard of it, of course.’
‘But never been there?’
‘No,’ he said, grateful to answer truthfully. ‘Why?’ His tone was cautious.
‘Oh, it’s nothing. I just… well, there is someone from Grenadyn who is as handy as you are with a knife. Actually, I understate his skill. He is a sensational wielder of the small blade and throws a knife with such deadly accuracy that, until I saw your talent, I had never thought to see anyone match it.’
Wyl’s throat constricted. ‘Oh yes? What’s his name?’
‘Romen Koreldy. A noble from a very wealthy family.’
This time Wyl could not hide his alarm. ‘Did he know you?’ The stupid question slipped out and Wyl, cringing, tried to correct it. ‘I mean, do you see him?’ His mind raced to dig amongst the little that was left of Romen to find information on this man.
‘No, he was older than me. He used to lark around with my elder brothers but I was too young. I did see him once, showing off for the youngsters. I was about five. He was that good with a knife he could split a thread from twenty-five paces when he was little more than a youth.’
Something nagged at Wyl’s attention but he ignored it. He was fascinated, for Romen’s mind had not released any of this. No wonder his riding companion’s name had meant nothing to him. ‘And?’
Aremys shrugged. ‘Nothing of note. Our family left Grenadyn not many years later and we came to the mainland. We didn’t stay so long, a few years perhaps — we all missed home too much. In that time, Romen had left. There was some talk of a scandal amongst the Koreldys but I never found out what it was. I have not seen or heard of him since.’
It was time to move away from Koreldy. ‘And you’ve never been back?’ Wyl asked.
‘To Minlyton?’
Wyl nodded.
‘No, but now you mention it, once I collect my monies I may do just that.’ Aremys straightened in the saddle, stretching. ‘Time to break our fast, do you think?’
The mention of food ended that conversation and Wyl was relieved he had not been required to explain his skill with the knife any further. He had learned his lesson about not showing off. They shared the hearty meal they had asked the kitchen staff at the inn to pack, knowing it was an all-day ride to Pearlis. The servings of chicken, cheese, fruits and bread were generous, and afterwards both admitted they could easily lie back on the soft verge and take a nap. Instead they encouraged each other to saddle up again and continued their journey, falling back into easy silence for the next hour or so.
As they drew closer to Pearlis, Wyl’s question was answered: Celimus had indeed been busy strong-arming the Legion for answers. ‘Shar’s wrath!’ he exclaimed when they came across the first tortured soul.
The body had been well preserved by the cool weather and rotted slowly on the fearsome spike. The mouth was drawn back in agony, the limbs strangely twisted.
‘This man died slowly,’ Aremys commented. ‘You can see they broke his bones first, and expertly done.’
‘I’ve never seen such cruelty in Morgravia outside of its torture chamber,’ Wyl murmured, shaking with anger. ‘This is over the stolen taxes, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Faryl. Come on, let’s keep moving.’
They counted a further nine corpses, all soldiers, hanging from the poles on which they had been precisely impaled to cause maximum pain and ensure a slow death. Some had deteriorated more than others, suggesting Celimus had set to with his vicious inquisition several days before the first victim they had seen.
‘And these are only the bodies on this stretch of road. Shar knows how many more are rotting on the others that lead into Pearlis,’ Aremys said.
The smell of putrid flesh threatened to spill their breakfast for them. Wyl was horrified that these men — his men — had been tortured like this over the likes of Rostyr. ‘I hate him,’ he whispered.
‘Who?’
‘The King,’ he said, staring at the body contorted in its death spasm.
His companion was looking at him with a guarded expression. Wyl knew there was no point trying to take the words back. ‘And if you repeat that to anyone, I won’t miss with the knife next time.’
He sighed. ‘I’m going now, Aremys. Here’s where we part company. My road into the western counties is about four miles from here. Again, I thank you for your company.’
He almost made the farewell sign of the Legion, stopping himself just in time. Instead he reached over and clasped the man’s shoulder. It was not a particularly feminine gesture but he had already decided that a woman who carried weapons was never going to be considered courtly.
‘Faryl, please don’t leave yet.’
‘I must. It’s time I was on my way.’
‘What’s so important?’
‘Nothing. I just want to continue on my own now. I’ve seen enough to know I have no reason to travel through the city.’
‘Sounds to me like you have something to hide from.’
Wyl bristled. If only you knew, he thought. ‘Only my hate for this sort of thing,’ he said, pleased to hear how calm his voice was. ‘Just leave it, Aremys.’
‘All right, I understand,’ his friend said, then he grinned. ‘Look, come with me as far as Smallhampton. It’s just a few miles away and you can pick up a small track there to the western counties. It won’t take you much out of your way.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a hide there. I want to pick up some money.’
‘But you’re going into Pearlis, surely, to be paid for your kill?’
‘No. I’ve changed my mind — that money can be paid later. Since we began talking about Grenadyn I’ve decided to go home… see my family before I die or they do.’
Wyl was baffled. He swiped at yet more of the auburn hairs which had loosened on the ride and were flapping around his face. It was such an annoying sensation, and yet he recalled how attractive that same look had been on Valentyna. ‘Well, that’s good. But what has this to do with me?’
Aremys looked uncomfortable again. ‘Nothing, in truth. I just want to continue riding with you a little longer. We can…’ He stopped, embarrassed by his own awkwardness. ‘I like you, Faryl. I just…’ He struggled again. ‘That is… I enjoy your company.’
Wyl did not know whether to feel flattered or cornered. It was true that going to Smallhampton would not take him much out of his way, and there would be a chance there for an ale and some food before heading out west, which would enable him to ride through the night. On the other hand, Aremys was sounding needy, which did not sit right with what Wyl knew of him so far. Aremys struck him as an independent type, used to a solitary existence. It just didn’t add up. There was some secret here but as he tried to bring together those thoughts which had nagged at him earlier also, he noticed that Aremys would not meet his eyes. That, together with the slight flush to his cheeks, gave Wyl far more information than he wanted. Shar save us! he thought. He’s enamoured of me.
‘Please,’ Aremys added softly, with perfect timing.
Knowing it was a bad idea, but flustered by the situation, Wyl conceded. ‘All right. Smallhampton it is and then I’m going west… alone.’
Aremys loosed a broad smile, pleased with his win. ‘We can share an ale at the inn there before yo
u go.’
Wyl looked again at the putrefying body nearby. ‘Let’s just get away from here,’ he said.
They moved off the road on to a small track and flanked some deserted fields before entering a copse.
‘Know anything about hides?’ Aremys asked.
‘No,’ Wyl replied, lying. Faryl had dozens all over various realms.
‘Actually hired assassins tend to use them more than we mercenaries, but I like to be cautious. You should follow suit — it could save your life some time.’
‘I don’t live as dangerously as you. But yes, I may take that advice.’
There was an old disused hut on the edge of the copse. ‘In there, is it?’ Wyl asked.
‘No. Too obvious. Any vagabond using it for shelter could discover my cache. I use the hut as a marker. Let me show you.’
He climbed down from his horse and pulled a small length of rope from his saddlebag.
Wyl got off his horse too. ‘What’s the rope for?’
‘Wait and see.’
They approached the hut as far as its door, then Aremys turned his back to it. ‘Now walk with me thirty strides.’
They did.
‘And ten strides to our left.’
Wyl followed him to a hollow in an old tree but hung back as Aremys glanced into it.
‘Bollocks!’ Aremys exclaimed.
‘Gone?’ Wyl said, leaning over to look in too.
They were shoulder to shoulder now. Aremys turned and looked at the woman he liked very much — he had even allowed himself daydreams of bedding her. He was not an unattractive man, just large. Most women, once they got to know him, enjoyed him. He would have loved to have pleasured this woman. He hated doing this.
‘I’m so sorry, Faryl,’ he whispered into her hair. Then louder, ‘Forgive me.’
‘Forgive you? For what?’
In a blink Aremys had spun Wyl around and clamped his hands behind his back. He knocked his legs away so Wyl slammed to the ground, old wounds protesting angrily, new bruises flaring. Aremys used the rope to bind Faryl’s hands. It would have been easier if he had been required to kill her, because she struggled furiously, nearly unbalancing him at one point. She was far stronger than he had anticipated. But he was bigger and he finally managed to sit on her legs and still her, which was fortunate because he was not sure he could have killed her for any amount of money.
‘Aremys!’ Wyl shrieked in the voice he despised. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Apologies, Leyen,’ said a new voice, prompting Wyl to turn his head sharply towards the hut. ‘I knew you wouldn’t come to me on the strength of my bidding so I had to hire special help.’
‘Jessom!’ Wyl spat, remembering the Chancellor who had accompanied Celimus into Briavel.
Aremys lifted Faryl to her feet, moving to dust off her clothes. Wyl kicked at him, eyes burning with hatred towards his betrayer. ‘Fuck you, Aremys!’
Jessom made a sound of disapproval. ‘Dear me, Leyen. Language, language. So crude for a lady.’
Wyl stopped struggling and simply glared between the two men. There were soldiers too. No point in trying to run or even fight. He was trapped.
‘What do you want?’ he snarled.
‘Well, my dear, you did such a good job on your last … er, task that you have impressed someone who wishes to meet with you.’
‘I’m not interested,’ Wyl said, every nerve on edge now. This was dangerous.
‘I expected as much. You certainly are a private person. Is this a disguise you are wearing, bruises included?’
Wyl remained silent. Jessom looked towards Aremys.
‘This is the real thing as far as I can tell,’ the mercenary mumbled.
‘Not that I’m complaining, for she is far more attractive than I have ever seen her. How can you be sure, though?’ Jessom enquired, in no hurry.
‘Does seeing her naked count?’ Aremys growled, bristling now.
He did not care much for Jessom but the money was too good to ignore. The Chancellor had paid five times more than the price of a kill just for Aremys to track down and capture the woman. It all became too easy when she stumbled into his path and he was able to deal not only with the conspirators but with her as well. The disguises he discovered in her belongings and other giveaway signs like how well she rode, her lean strong body, her private ways — they all added up to her being the woman Jessom searched for. But as soon as she threw the knife towards him, he no longer had any doubt this was his prey.
He hated himself for handing her over to Jessom. It was obvious Faryl had no desire to meet with the King. More secrets, he decided. Take the money and leave. Don’t get involved, he told himself, not wanting to meet her gaze.
Jessom was laughing softly. ‘Ah, that’s very convincing. I’m glad you were able to enjoy a dalliance with this intriguing creature… and get paid for it. Surely you didn’t give her the bruises as well? Tsk, tsk,’ Jessom said.
Wyl wished he could reach his blades. There would be several dead men in the copse if he could. He said nothing, just levelled Aremys with the murderous stare he knew Faryl did so well.
Jessom became businesslike. ‘I know her as Leyen. She is a master of disguise. Has she told you any different?’
Aremys considered. If Faryl’s eyes were weapons he would be dead thrice over. She was a dangerous enemy to make, as she was surely going to be permitted to live. Perhaps the money was not worth it after all — he knew she would probably pursue him now, come hell or high water. And he had stupidly admitted where he came from. Strange… he knew she had been honest with him up to a point, possibly shared things she would not with most, and that had made him truthful with her… up to a point. It was a mistake, though.
‘Well?’ Jessom prompted, irritated.
Aremys noted that Faryl’s eyes were communicating something more than just the plain hate of earlier.
‘Sorry, I was just thinking back over our conversations. No. I have known her only as Leyen,’ he admitted. He saw relief flit across Faryl’s face before she looked away.
‘Good, then perhaps we have her real name now. Not that we can be absolutely sure, but it will do. Come, my dear, you are to be escorted back to Pearlis.’
‘Why?’ Wyl said.
‘To meet with his royal highness King Celimus, whom you have impressed with your talents.’
NINE
ELSPYTH HAD STAYED TRUE to her promise to Wyl. Resisting the urge to head home after their farewell she had made her way slowly south, accepting rides with a family, a merchant convoy and a travelling band of musicians. All were very kind and would accept no money for their transport or hospitality. None were in a hurry and, in truth, neither was Elspyth, happy to meander at their pace, stopping off at towns to make their deliveries or perform. The musicians had helped her find her laughter again, even encouraging her to sing along with them around their nightly fire. They were taking a circuitous route towards Pearlis, hoping to earn good profits during the spring months and more than happy to have her in the group for part of their journey. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed her time with them, and quietly regretted their parting. The troupe gave her a fond farewell and the usual expressions of hope for meeting again.
Between all her new friends she had got as far as the outskirts of Rittylworth, about eleven days after her parting with Wyl. She was happy to walk the rest of the way, wondering how Wyl’s sister would react to her and what she was going to say to the grieving young woman. Wyl had extracted a promise from her that would effectively see Elspyth telling lies from here on in to anyone who knew him. But she and Wyl — as Romen Koreldy — had been through too much together to forsake one another over a few lies. Furthermore, Wyl had given her his own oath and so she would keep true to him, anticipating reciprocal courtesy when the time came for him to return to the Razors.
Elspyth had no idea why Wyl needed to guard his identity so keenly. She did, however, understand part of his reluctance to share his tale,
for people’s suspicion of magic was deeply entrenched. This enchantment on Wyl was hardly a fairground trick; its enormity was too much for most to cope with. The fact that both she and Lothryn had accepted the sorcery was fortunate for Wyl, but they came from backgrounds that accepted the existence of magic in the world.
She remembered how Wyl had haltingly told them of the curse on his life — ‘Myrren’s gift’ he had called it and laughed bitterly. As implausible as it had sounded, everything he had said corroborated that this magic had indeed been wielded on him. For Elspyth, it explained her aunt’s strange reaction towards Wyl when he had visited the seer, and the curious comment she had made after the Pearlis tourney that, ‘we haven’t seen the last of that one yet’.
And Elspyth could see that Lothryn believed him too. She recalled how matter of fact the Mountain man had been, not at all perturbed by the suggestion of magic. She felt the same way. Another reason to love him. Her thoughts turned to how hard and quickly she had fallen for the big man who had wrenched her from her home and, against her will, taken her into the Razors, only to risk his life for her a few days later. It was seeing him weep for his dead wife while holding his newborn son in his arms that had caused her heart to fully melt for him, and no doubt he had felt similarly, for since that moment their relationship had changed. Suddenly there had been a burning connection between them, yet they had not so much as shared a kiss. How sad when she loved him as she did.
She remembered how he had turned to fight their pursuers on that lonely escarpment, begging her to run. And she had done so only because she had given her word to him that she would, and then Lothryn had pressed Wyl into running too. It hurt deeply to imagine what had befallen him after their escape. She had no doubt whatsoever that he would have been taken alive in order to stand before a wrathful Cailech and suffer whatever punishment was meted out. Would it have been death by some harrowing method which only the Mountain King could dream up?
Elspyth did not want to think about it. She wanted to believe that Lothryn lived, and distracted herself by turning her mind to Wyl. Trapped in Koreldy’s body, he was trying to save the Queen of the realm which had killed his father and been his homeland’s enemy for centuries, whilst sending Elspyth off to track down his grieving sister. What a tragic family, she thought, so much despair in their lives. But she had agreed to do this for him, and in exchange he had agreed to return to the Razors as soon as he could and find out what had happened to Lothryn.
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