‘There were four sons if I am not mistaken,’ someone said.
Crys cast a glance at the Queen before answering. ‘Indeed, sir, there were four of us. My youngest brother was murdered at the King’s pleasure in Stoneheart. Reliable witnesses have attested to this fact.’
Excited talk broke out and anything further Crys had planned to say was drowned out. Elspyth noted that Crys had benefited from his rest and refreshment. He looked composed and very focused. Perhaps the gravity of this meeting had reminded him of who he was now and his importance in the political landscape of his realm and indeed of Briavel’s. She chanced a small smile towards him and was thrilled when he cast a tiny wink her way and lifted his strong chin. She knew how deeply he must have dug within himself to find this strength and composure in front of these important strangers. The Duchy of Felrawthy is in safe hands, Jeryb, she thought.
‘Your majesty,’ said a deep and distinguished voice from the centre of the room.
‘Lord Vaughan,’ Valentyna replied.
‘With the greatest of respect to our noble guest, I must ask what the internal politics of Morgravia have to do with Briavel? Until you are married to King Celimus and formally link our two realms, I believe it may be unwise for us to meddle in or even concern ourselves with Morgravia’s domestic matters. Who the King’s men execute on his soil is surely his business alone, providing it is only Morgravian blood that is spilled.’
‘I appreciate your thoughts, Lord Vaughan,’ the Queen said. ‘The problem is that Morgravia has brought this problem to us… in more ways than one. I have only outlined one part of this tale, my lords. As I mentioned, a man of Shar, a novice but nonetheless a devout believer and practitioner, witnessed the shocking slaughter at both Rittylworth Monastery and at Felrawthy. He now seeks peace from these nightmares from our own Father Paryn. I do not for one minute doubt this young man’s word about what he saw. Peaceful men of Shar were cut down as they tended the monastery gardens; the senior monks were crucified and burned.
‘Pil escaped and with him took a woman called Ylena Thirsk, who will attest not only to the bloodbath at Rittylworth but to the execution of Alyd Donal of Felrawthy, her husband of one day. I am sure the significance of her family name is not lost on any of you.’
Angry mutterings broke out which she hushed. ‘Ylena Thirsk was taken to Rittylworth for sanctuary and safekeeping by none other than Romen Koreldy. I already knew of this because he told me about it during his stay with us. When the executioners came they were Legionnaires under the King of Morgravia’s express order to raze the village and its monastery and to kill the holy men.’
‘How can we trust this information, your highness?’ Lord Vaughan asked, sounding exasperated.
Valentyna ignored his tone and looked towards Elspyth who had half hoped she would be spared such scrutiny. She took a deep breath and begged her voice to hold firm.
‘My lords, I happened upon Rittylworth soon after the devastation. I saw the chaos the raiders had left behind, the cruelty of their work. I spoke with the dying head monk as he hung, still smoking, from his cross.’ Elspyth was pleased to see how many of the nobles looked away in pain at her words. ‘He could barely talk through his scorched throat but he confirmed to me that these were the King’s men, that they were searching for Ylena Thirsk and would kill her if they found her.’
‘It seems the King could not risk an all out revolt by the Legion which remains loyal to the Thirsk name. Instead, assassins were set upon Ylena Thirsk’s trail, gentlemen,’ the Queen continued. ‘Once again it seems she has escaped — this time with a man known as Aremys Farrow of Grenadyn. But the noble family who offered her safety did not escape the King’s attention and were punished in the most dire manner.’
She glanced towards Crys who took up the tale.
‘My youngest brother, Alyd, was beheaded as punishment for marrying Ylena Thirsk. The other members of my family were murdered because they offered her a haven. This is all at the hands of a mad King,’ Crys said, eyes burning passionately with hate for his sovereign.
Angry exclamations from the stunned audience prompted Krell to cast a warning glance to his Queen.
‘Gentlemen, please.’ She held her hand up. ‘Let us take some wine together and calm ourselves.’
The mood did not change, despite Valentyna’s best intentions, but at least the gathered nobles were prepared to hear her out and quietened as they drank fresh goblets of the fine wine.
Valentyna motioned to Krell who handed her a parchment. ‘This arrived today from Morgravia,’ she said. ‘It is a firm offer of marriage from King Celimus. He has set a date of the last day of spring.’
She could feel their joy at the reality of the wedding like a separate pulse in the room. It nauseated her.
‘He continues by warning me of a very real threat from King Cailech of the Mountain Kingdom.’
‘Briavel and Morgravia are stronger united, your majesty. Celimus is right,’ said a man from the northern province, who felt Cailech’s threat more keenly.
The Queen nodded without commitment to his sentiment. ‘Celimus goes on to explain that he has proof of this threat, claiming that the Donal family of Felrawthy were slaughtered mercilessly by Cailech’s men.’
Crys stepped forward angrily. ‘That’s a lie!’ Elspyth reached towards him but he shook her arm away. ‘Cailech is too wise to risk his people now. It’s easier to let Morgravia and Briavel tear each other apart… can’t you see?’ he roared, looking around the room. ‘The Mountain King has never set foot in Felrawthy. Our men would have known about even the slightest incursion into the east and we would have been well warned of any raiding party. The northern defences established by my father were second to none. Believe me when I say that this is Celimus contriving excuses, poisoning Briavel’s collective mind to alleviate himself of suspicion so that the marriage will go ahead.’
The Queen nodded; Crys had summed it up perfectly. She looked around the room, trying to gauge the mood.
‘My lords, Wyl Thirsk warned me of Celimus’s more sinister intentions when he brought the marriage proposal to my father. He counselled that Celimus may not be as interested in peace as he is in acquiring the rich and fertile lands of Briavel. It is my belief that he wishes to rule us, gentlemen, merely paying lip service to our own proud sovereignty. He is empire building, sirs. Why else would King Valor have met such an ugly death? Celimus wanted us vulnerable and desperate for peace.’
She hoped this subtle mention of her father might win the support she wanted but instead all eyes averted their gaze from her own. There was uncertainty in the air.
‘We must not turn from the prospect of peace, your majesty,’ one of the oldest nobles declared plaintively. Valentyna’s heart sank. She knew in that instant that she would not escape marriage to the King of Morgravia. These nobles would prefer to accept rule from the usurper if it meant no more of their brave bright sons had to march towards a hopeless war. She felt the tears of realisation prick at her eyes and blinked them away. How could she blame them? Her father had refused to risk her life, had given his own to save hers. Wyl Thirsk too had died saving her life. Why should these fathers feel any differently and give up their beloved children for such a pointless cause? Her marriage to Celimus would bring the peace they craved and give their children prosperity. So what if that meant giving up King and Queen to the rule of an Emperor?
She felt her gut twist at the thought.
‘Peace at what price, my lords?’ she asked the room, eyeing each of them with her hard blue gaze. ‘Is this what you have fought for all of your lives, and your fathers and grandfathers before you? Is this what my father raised me to believe? To marry for peace and squander Briavel’s name and pride?’
She felt her heart hammering at the passionate words she spoke. It won the nobles’ attention — the men she thought she might have lost shifted uncomfortably at her accusation.
But it was the powerful Lord Vaughan who spoke for them all it seemed. ‘We
need more proof, your highness,’ he said firmly into the silence.
‘What proof would satisfy you, my lords?’ she asked, her tone as sharp as a blade.
Lord Vaughan shrugged. ‘So far, your majesty, with respect it is hearsay and unreliable accounts. I acknowledge what Elspyth of Yentro told us of what she saw at Rittylworth but we need more. Bring us Ylena Thirsk. She more than anyone might convince us that Celimus’s intentions are as dark as you suggest.’
Valentyna saw heads nodding, knew her fate was sealed. Ylena Thirsk could not save her. No one could. She would be wed to the King of Morgravia in the same helpless manner that a baby lamb is led to its slaughter.
THIRTY
WYL AND AREMYS ARRIVED at the Thicket from the village of Timpkenny on the northeastern edge of Briavel. The village had struck them as an odd, almost nervous place that suffered from being the closest clump of humanity to where the Darkstream presumably joined the River Eyle. Much quiet superstition surrounded the Darkstream. It was not a fear of magic so much as a privately held belief amongst these northerners that the Wild beyond was enchanted and not a place for sensible people to roam.
No one could tell Wyl and Aremys where its ultimate source or indeed destination might be, but everyone they spoke to confirmed that the Darkstream was the only way to cross over into the Wild, once you had negotiated the Thicket. Aremys asked one man why he lived so close to a place that held such superstition. The man had shrugged, answering that the land of this region was uncannily fertile and the weather, though cold, was reliable. The rains always came and the summer never failed. ‘Our animals and crops thrive,’ he had said, shrugging again. ‘My family eats.’
Wyl and Aremys knew they should count themselves lucky for having experienced an uneventful journey north. They had travelled relatively swiftly from Brynt across the border, always heading towards the mighty Razors, then cutting east once the famed mountains began to rise up menacingly before them. Briavellian guards had picked them up not far over the border, but did little more than smirk when the travellers admitted they were hoping to find a quiet pass into the Razors to avoid Cailech’s fortress. This was the cover story they had agreed on.
The captain of the guard was not so easy to convince, however, when his men escorted them to his checkpoint.
‘There are several entries into the Razors from this part of Briavel but you say you are headed for Grenadyn. Surely it would have been easier for you to access the mountains from western Morgravia?’
‘Too much trouble brewing on the border over there, sir,’ Aremys had said. ‘It might be dangerous to take my lady via those routes.’
The officer had nodded thoughtfully. ‘You have made your journey three times as long, though.’
‘Sir,’ Wyl had interrupted, noting how the man instantly regarded him with softer eyes. He wondered if he himself had done this when addressing a good-looking woman. In truth he found it insulting that a woman should be considered with such instant sympathy — or was it desire? He had tried not to let his irritation show in his tone. ‘It is imperative that I return to my home in Grenadyn.’ The lie came surprisingly easily. ‘However, I wish to draw as little attention to myself as possible so am prepared to lose the additional week or so that this more circuitous route will take.’
‘And whose attention are you trying to avoid?’
‘Why, Cailech’s of course,’ Wyl had replied, with a hint of irritation now. ‘We have learned on our travels that the Mountain King is threatening summary execution for strangers.’
‘Morgravians only as I understand it, my lady.’ The captain eyed her and stifled a smug expression. ‘You could have sailed more easily to Grenadyn, surely?’
‘But we were nowhere near the coast, sir. I am sure you do not need to know my life story, Captain er…?’
‘Dirk, my lady.’
‘Captain Dirk,’ Wyl had said. ‘I appreciate your concern for our long journey, but I have employed Aremys as my guide and he knows the mountain routes well. We shall be fine,’ he had finished, hoping to bring an end to the man’s inquisitiveness.
‘Well, Lady Farrow, it is none of my business where or how you choose to go but —’
‘That is right, Captain,’ Wyl had interjected gently, as he thought Ylena might have admonished someone. ‘I understand that you are responsible for the security of this part of Briavel but as you can surely tell, we are no threat to the realm nor indeed to anyone within its borders. We are simply travellers passing through. I gather there is no law against that. I appreciate your concern for my safety but Aremys will see to it.’
The man had shown amusement for the first time. ‘I was only going to say that I thought you were not dressed sufficiently warmly for the Razors, my lady. It will be rough sleeping in the mountains. Are you really up to such a challenge?’
‘No need to worry,’ Aremys had chimed in. ‘It is my intention to make a stop at Banktown and buy what we need.’
Wyl knew there was little more the captain could do unless he decided to detain them, but he would need good grounds to prevent a noble passing through. Besides, it was now obvious that Aremys did know the region; perhaps the captain had not expected him to know the local towns and villages and was testing them. As it turned out he had nodded, wished them well and allowed them to move on.
Aremys had seen to it that they left the patrol in a northerly direction, as though heading deeper into the foothills and ultimately up into the Razors. He knew the terrain well enough and soon had them back on track, heading east across the relative obscurity of the lightly wooded hillsides. They had arrived at Timpkenny — their real destination — just before dark, taken a couple of rooms in a very ordinary inn and, in the morning, had sold the horses. Wyl knew the price they had managed to negotiate was just short of theft but they had no choice. It was on foot from here on as the famed Thicket would not permit horses to enter. After purchasing a few minor provisions they had set off.
Aremys and Wyl stared now at the dense Thicket without knowing that not so long ago a small boy and a large dog had sat and regarded this strange freak of nature from virtually the same position.
‘It suits its name,’ Wyl said. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No. I’ve skirted around this region but never actually seen it.’
‘How do we get in?’
‘Push in, I suppose, although the old stories say it lets you in once you’ve made up your mind to enter.’
‘Lets you in, but not out?’
Aremys grinned at the beautiful woman who crouched next to him with a scowling expression. Strange as it was, he had thought of her as Wyl ever since Tenterdyn — not that he had ever known Wyl Thirsk. He had witnessed the magic of Myrren’s gift with his own eyes and suddenly anything and everything seemed possible. He had never considered whether he believed in magical powers or not — it was simply not an issue which had come up during his childhood in Grenadyn. That far north the old stories prevailed and were accepted as folklore. It was only when he found himself in the south of Morgravia that he noticed how wary of magic the people seemed to be.
Now he did believe in it, having seen Faryl change into Ylena. Stories about the Thicket and the Wild were suddenly plausible, not just horror tales to frighten youngsters. It was at this moment that he realised how vulnerable Wyl was as Ylena. Who knew what lay on the other side of the Thicket or what was to come? Would she be able to cope?
As if reading his thoughts Wyl nudged him. ‘Don’t stare at me like that. I know what you’re thinking and, big as you are, you’re no match for me, Aremys. I may look fragile in Ylena’s body but I assure you I am not.’
‘Did Myrren make you a mind-reader as well?’ Aremys asked, turning back to regard the thick mass of trees and bushes that confronted them.
‘No. You’re as easily read as an open book. Didn’t your mother teach you to mask your emotions?’
‘I thought I had,’ Aremys said, feigning hurt. They grinned at each ot
her, although with little mirth, only anxiety. ‘To answer your question: no, apparently the Thicket only lets you travel from this side to whatever lies on the other side. That’s my understanding anyway. I believe legend has it that you cannot turn around halfway through and change your mind. Once committed and once permitted entry, you have to continue.’
‘Extraordinary,’ Wyl breathed. ‘And we’re not supposed to believe in magic,’ he added, somewhat sarcastically.
Aremys did laugh out loud now. ‘I think you and I know better after what you’re going through. Come on, if we’re going to do this we should start now. There are rainclouds set to burst.’
‘I’ll go first,’ Wyl offered.
‘Are you scared?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ Aremys sighed. ‘I thought it was just me.’
Wyl grinned. ‘Shall we hold hands then?’ he suggested with only a hint of sarcasm.
‘Oh no. Ladies first,’ Aremys offered in an overly polite tone.
Their banter was just another way of avoiding making the move. Wyl forced himself to step closer; as he did, he noticed something dangling from one of the low branches. His gaze slid past it momentarily as he scanned for the best entry point before recognition hauled his attention back. ‘Look at that!’ he said. He untied the item, elation burning through him. ‘This is Romen’s bracelet.’
Aremys shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I do!’ Wyl said fiercely, tying the thong around his now-dainty wrist. ‘Only one of two people could have brought this here and I suspect it wasn’t Queen Valentyna.’
‘Who then?’
‘Fynch!’
‘The gong boy you’ve spoken of? But he’s a child.’
‘Never dismiss him as just a gong boy… or a child. He is a gifted youngster and with enough courage for both of us. If we look hard enough I reckon we shall find paw prints close by. Fynch and Knave have already come this way and left this as a sign.’
‘Brave lad,’ Aremys murmured. ‘Well, if a boy can do this, so can we.’
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