The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Start from the beginning,’ Wyl said, swallowing a mouthful of the refreshing ale. ‘I want to know everything.’

  Elysius sighed, sat back in his comfortable chair and began his story.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  VALENTYNA WAS PICKING AT a late supper with her Morgravian guests and her two most trusted counsellors, Commander Liryk and Chancellor Krell.

  The new Duke of Felrawthy had, to all outward eyes, battled through the worst of his horror and grief. The wound no longer showed so openly on his face, although Elspyth, who had known him briefly before the trauma, could see he was a changed man. The pain would never leave his heart. He would hide it, because that was how he had been raised, but Elspyth felt her own grief that the bright expression which had come so naturally to Crys’s face now held a haunted quality. Another reason for her to hate Celimus. Still, for the Briavellians who were just getting to know the new duke, the intelligence, integrity and humour this young man embodied were testimony to his fine parents.

  The supper conversation had been driven deliberately by Krell to steer clear of the subject of his young Queen’s impending marriage, even though it was clearly on everyone’s mind. He knew she had enough misgivings and fears of her own without being subjected to the weight of the Morgravians’ despair when they learned of her decision. Krell had taken it upon himself to speak quietly with the young woman from Yentro, who was the most vocal, and had tried to make her understand the fragile and highly complex position the monarch of Briavel found herself in. Elspyth had listened but he saw the pity and disgust she felt on behalf of her new friend, and knew he must do everything he could to dissuade this fiery girl from convincing the Queen that her marriage was doomed.

  Supper had been his idea. Since the Morgravians’ arrival the atmosphere around the Queen had become tense. He felt that a light meal late at night in Valentyna’s private solar might help to alleviate some of the tension and would be an ideal opportunity for himself and Liryk to help these guests understand how important it was for Briavel to start living without the proverbial sword hanging over its head. It was his hope that talk might even touch on their departure, for as long as they remained with Valentyna, their discussions of Celimus would poison any chance Briavel had of achieving peace.

  The novice monk, Krell noted, had closeted himself away with Father Paryn, choosing to share his meals and his time with the elder man of Shar. Perhaps Pil might choose to remain in Briavel; this was less disconcerting for Krell.

  All was going well until Liryk was called away by the head guard on duty for the night. The Commander returned to whisper something in Krell’s ear and both men disappeared.

  ‘Chancellor?’ Valentyna enquired when Krell re-entered looking decidedly sombre.

  ‘An exhausted and disturbed Physic Geryld, your majesty, asking for an audience.’

  ‘Good grief,’ she said, standing. ‘He attended my father on occasion. Permit him to enter immediately.’

  ‘Perhaps, your highness, I might bring him to your study,’ Krell said cautiously, glancing towards the Morgravians.

  Her gaze narrowed. ‘This is urgent, I gather?’ He nodded.

  She thought of the study — there was no fire burning there this evening. ‘I think you should bring him here. If he is exhausted the man needs warmth and food. I cannot imagine why he would ride in so late.’

  Krell did not look happy at her decision and disappeared.

  ‘We can leave if you wish, your highness,’ Crys suggested.

  ‘Please stay,’ she said. ‘I imagine this is some small domestic matter which we can sort out quickly. No need to disrupt everyone’s supper.’ She cast a smile his way.

  Elspyth in turn gave him a wry look. It was clear to her that Crys was entirely captivated by the Queen. Who could resist her, Elspyth had to admit, looking at the statuesque monarch who would surely dazzle even if she wore hessian rags.

  Krell and Liryk re-appeared, escorting the fatigued physic who carried a leather sack. Valentyna wondered why no one had offered to take it for him. ‘Physic Geryld,’ Krell announced unnecessarily, a stickler for detail.

  Elspyth and Crys had already withdrawn to the back of the room to stand in the shadows. They felt like intruders even though Valentyna had gone to such lengths to make them welcome.

  ‘Your majesty,’ the doctor murmured, struggling to bow in a genteel fashion. ‘Forgive my intrusion.’

  Valentyna threw a glance of concern towards Krell who hurried to help the man to a chair. ‘Please, Physic Geryld,’ she said, ‘sit by the fire and warm yourself. You look half frozen, sir.’

  He shook his head and remained standing. ‘No time, your highness. I bring grave tidings. May I speak freely?’

  ‘You may,’ she said, holding her breath now. This felt ominous.

  ‘A woman is dying in the village of Brackstead, your majesty. She has but hours to live. This is no ordinary soul — she is of noble rank, a Morgravian no less, who begs your help. She tells a tale so horrid, my Queen, that I could not trust anyone else but myself to deliver it.’

  Elspyth and Crys both stepped forward from the shadows. A Morgravian! This concerned them as much as the Queen.

  Liryk muttered something under his breath about how many more Morgravians were going to seek shelter in Briavel but cut it short when he caught the warning glance from his Queen. ‘Go on, sir, please,’ Valentyna said.

  The physic shivered. ‘Actually, I will take that seat, your highness, if I may. I am not used to such wild rides at night.’ He smiled nervously and sat, feeling the fire’s heat.

  ‘And you will take a cup of something, physic, please,’ the Queen said, motioning towards Krell who obliged.

  The doctor took the cup and swallowed its contents; the powerful liquor offered an almost instant revival. He cleared his throat and looked at his sovereign.

  ‘The woman is the Lady Aleda Donal of Felrawthy and she is gravely injured from a terrible attack on her family.’

  A stunned silence claimed the chamber then Physic Geryld felt himself lifted in a firm, unshakeable grip.

  ‘Where is Brackstead?’ a young man implored him, his tone just short of threatening.

  ‘Who, sir, are you?’ the doctor asked, confused.

  ‘I am the Duke of Felrawthy, the dying woman’s son.’

  Valentyna restored some measure of calm. ‘Let him finish, Crys, please,’ she cautioned.

  Crys knelt by the doctor, murmuring an apology.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Physic Geryld assured, taking the young duke’s hand. ‘Son, it is for you alone that she clings to life. She needs to know that you are alive and safe. We must go to her, but first there is more to tell.’

  Valentyna steeled herself. She was not sure how many more shocks she could cope with after the last few days. All of them led back to the hateful man she was to marry. Anger threatened to overwhelm her again — as it did every time she permitted the marriage space in her thoughts. She fought it back. There was time still… for what she did not know, but time anyway before she would have to face him again, say his name, make her vows.

  ‘Tell us, sir, and then we must make immediate arrangements for Brackstead.’

  Physic Geryld nodded. He was beginning to think more clearly now that the liquor had worked its special enchantment to warm him.

  ‘Celimus will know she has survived,’ Elspyth muttered before the doctor could speak again.

  Both Liryk and Krell wished they could shut up the woman of Yentro. She was too poisonous to be around the Queen. This whole situation was turning more dangerous by the minute.

  ‘Your majesty, please,’ Krell counselled softly.

  Valentyna looked towards the doctor. ‘Please speak, sir,’ she said kindly, not wanting to push him too hard.

  ‘There is something, your majesty, which I was charged by the Lady Donal to bring to you.’

  Valentyna nodded, deliberately expressionless so her anxieties did not betray her. ‘What is it,
physic?’

  ‘I do know not, your highness, she would not say. She merely asked me to tell you that what she has sent is proof that you are marrying a madman — or words to that effect,’ he said awkwardly, embarrassed now.

  Liryk rolled his eyes and Krell shut his with despair.

  ‘Where is this proof?’ Valentyna asked, angry herself as the physic’s harsh message touched a nerve.

  Physic Geryld picked up the leather sack he had carried in. ‘This is what she gave me, your majesty. I have not looked inside.’

  Crys gasped as he recognised the sack Ylena had brought with her to Tenterdyn. Valentyna stilled him with a glare.

  Liryk could not help himself. ‘Well, tip it out, man.’

  Crys felt sorry for the doctor who was having to absorb everyone’s shock and frustration. He knew precisely what was in that leather sack. They had not had time to deal with it in the chaos that had occurred at Felrawthy.

  ‘Allow me, sir,’ Crys said. ‘Although I could tell you what it is without looking.’

  The Duke of Felrawthy reached inside and pulled out the head of his most beloved brother. ‘This is Alyd Donal, your highness. What is left of him anyway after Celimus had his pleasure.’

  Pandemonium broke out.

  Valentyna had organised their immediate departure for Brackstead. She insisted on meeting with the Lady Donal herself. After the shock of seeing Alyd Donal’s remains she felt compelled to offer her sympathies and promise this family that she would give protection to the Donals’ remaining son and whatever help she could.

  She sat now on her favourite horse, dressed in simple riding clothes. She wished the horse had not been a gift from Celimus but it seemed he knew how to navigate his way with a woman. No fabulous jewels or sumptuous ermine cloak for Valentyna. He had worked out quickly that she was not a woman to be won with ornaments or finery. She had clapped eyes on the filly and fallen in love. The King had even had the audacity to name the horse on her behalf. She wished she hated Bonny’s name but she could not. It suited her. Feisty and intelligent, the filly was bonny indeed and very much to her liking.

  Chancellor Krell had beseeched her to leave the matter to her guard, but the Queen had refused.

  ‘Krell, this woman has almost certainly given her life in order to reach me,’ Valentyna argued. ‘She had no idea her son was here so her intention was purely to speak with me. I am not, as perhaps you suspect, scavenging for excuses to renege on my decision. But let me tell you this: I will reconsider my position if I find firm proof that King Celimus is directly responsible for all of these deaths.’

  Krell had noted the set of her jaw; precisely the same as her father. Nothing was going to change this decision and he was better off leaving it as an unfinished battle to fight another day rather than lose now, as he surely would if he persisted.

  ‘As you wish, your highness.’

  She had softened her manner. ‘I am a sovereign, Krell. I must not be wrapped in fine linen simply because I am a woman and, for some bizarre reason, considered more fragile than a male. My father raised me to rule and rule I will, as I see fit. It would be imprudent of me to leave this woman to die without making an effort to grant her the audience she has given her life for.’

  He had nodded. ‘Be safe, my Queen.’

  ‘Liryk is bringing enough manpower to take on the Morgravian army it seems,’ she said, trying to lighten his mood.

  There was no smile in return. ‘Do not jest, your highness. I hope you never have to face such a thing,’ and he bowed and removed himself.

  Valentyna recalled his words now and his rare anger, albeit couched in polite words. He was most unhappy with her. So be it. Be true to yourself first, her father had always said. Follow your instincts even if counsel wishes otherwise.

  And that is what I am doing, she reminded herself. Following my instincts.

  One small consolation for Krell and Liryk was that the Yentro woman was not riding out with them. She had taken herself off to check on Pil, muttering something about waiting for Ylena.

  ‘I don’t care what she does,’ Liryk had admitted privately to the Chancellor, ‘so long as she’s not around to whisper in the ear of our Queen.’

  ‘I can’t agree more,’ Krell said. ‘I don’t doubt she has been through much but none of it is our concern. We must keep the Queen focused on her marriage and this Elspyth is a serious threat to it.’

  Liryk snorted. ‘And you don’t think riding off to Brackstead to hear more about his unsavoury activities isn’t?’ he scoffed.

  Krell ignored the sarcasm, accepting that both his and Liryk’s nerves were frayed. ‘I cannot stop her in this, Commander. Just keep her safe and bring our Queen home as fast as you can.’

  The soldier nodded. ‘Hopefully the Morgravian noble’s already dead,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing more for her majesty to learn.’

  ‘Yes, but we still have the business with the head and no doubt the Thirsk woman will arrive at some point with another sordid story,’ he said, disgusted. ‘This is none of our business,’ he added, more to himself than to Liryk.

  Liryk sighed. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘May Shar guide you,’ Krell said.

  He did not mention to the Commander the idea which was forming in his sharp mind. It was laced with its own perils but the Chancellor was feeling uncharacteristically ruffled by events. He was a man used to being in total control, both of his own emotions and his office. Suddenly all of the activities of recent days had sent events spinning beyond his reach. The Queen was making firm, independent decisions and, although she still looked to him for his counsel and indeed his friendship, here she was riding off impetuously on behalf of Morgravians.

  When the very first messenger from Celimus had brought news of Wyl Thirsk’s imminent arrival, King Valor had wondered aloud to Krell what in Shar’s name the enemy was doing in sending a diplomatic envoy. Krell had not forgotten the look of awe on his majesty’s face at the notion that the special emissary being sent from Morgravia might well be coming to bring a marriage proposal. That Briavellian sons might live to old age without facing battle and that their sons could be raised never knowing the threat of war or its loss seemed impossible and yet wonderful in theory. All it would take was the joining of the two realms in marriage. And Krell wanted to see Valor’s hope come true. He did not like Celimus; for all his easy charm and grace, his honeyed words and grand style, the man was sly. His eyes were cold and calculating, Krell felt, and something dark lurked within. But in spite of this, and as much as he too loved Valentyna, he knew she must make this sacrifice for her people. Unlike Thirsk and the other critics, Krell did not believe Celimus would seek to destroy her majesty or her realm. He truly believed Valentyna had the capacity to affect Celimus for the better, to change him. Together they would begin a mighty dynasty to rule over both realms, not unlike the famed union of the great western realm of Tallinor with the marriage of King Lorys to his beloved first wife, Nyria.

  The fact that Krell had won the Queen’s acceptance that this marriage was her duty and had seen her signature on the parchment now on its way back to Morgravia was balm to his troubled soul. But these new events unfurling threatened to damage irrevocably the pledge of marriage. He could not let it happen. He, Krell, would have to do something to save the situation.

  His mind was made up. Another messenger would be sent, a private one. Two heads are better than one, he told himself, and the recipient would surely assist in easing the passage towards this marriage, perhaps help him to put out the fires that kept erupting and threatening to destroy the two realms’ plans for peace.

  As the Queen and her entourage thundered across the Werryl Bridge in a bid to reach Brackstead before the Lady Aleda breathed her last, Krell was summoning a page.

  ‘Have a courier readied at once.’

  ‘Yes, Chancellor Krell,’ the lad said. ‘What message shall I give him, sir?’

  ‘Tell him it is a letter to Chancellor Jessom of Morgrav
ia.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  FYNCH WAS JUST AS fascinated to hear Elysius’s tale as Wyl was and even though he had faded quietly into the shadows whilst the conversation between his two companions continued, he continued to drink in the details as if he was parched.

  ‘I am Myrren’s father,’ Elysius said, ‘but my story begins much further back, when I was a youngster growing up in the far province of Parrgamyn.’

  ‘Where Queen Adana was born?’

  ‘That’s right. And a similar cruel streak to that which ran in that woman also ran in the veins of my younger brother. I do not know where he is now, somewhere in Morgravia, I suspect, but I sense the malevolent swell of his dark magic and his dangerous activities.’

  ‘How did you both come to be in this part of the world?’

  ‘Our parents were part of Adana’s retinue when she was sent to Pearlis to marry King Magnus. My father was one of her father’s most trusted advisors and was asked by the King of Parrgamyn to accompany the young Adana on her journey to Morgravia. He fought the duty because my father despised the woman for her determination to wipe out all those gifted with magic. His family was his secret burden.’

  ‘Because you were empowered,’ Wyl finished.

  Elysius nodded. ‘Yes. It came from my mother’s side and was very strong in us boys, which is odd. It normally transfers through women rather than males, but my mother told me once that there was a wildness to our magic which she could not account for.’

  ‘So you came to Stoneheart.’

  ‘We didn’t live there. Adana set up a household for her own people in Soulstone.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Wyl said, remembering the story now. ‘Did she prefer the country palace?’

  Elysius snorted. ‘No. She never had a kind word for anything Morgravian. But she preferred to keep her own people away from Stoneheart itself. She hated Pearlis and Morgravia’s King. She had grand ideas of running a separate court; it was obvious to all that she could hardly bear to spend any time near the King. Then Celimus came along and that changed her life dramatically. Even though King Magnus didn’t have much time for the boy, he certainly wouldn’t agree to his heir being carted off to Soulstone. He wanted him in the capital. From what I gathered from my father, this enraged Adana and life between the two royals became strained enough that its chill reached all the way south.’