The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Later, over that same breakfast, Valentyna and Crys spoke of the tale Physic Geryld had related on Aleda’s behalf.

  Crys shook his head. ‘The hide, the timing … it all fits. That area would also be the logical place to do their ugly work of burying and later burning the bodies.’ He did not want to say that not so far away was also buried the corpse of Faryl of Coombe, a spot chosen for its remoteness. It seemed Celimus’s mercenaries had selected well.

  Valentyna put her face in her hands and sighed. ‘You are quite sure it was the King?’

  ‘I wasn’t there, your highness, so I cannot be absolutely sure. However, all the shocking events which led up to this seem to be coming together into one nasty campaign from a new King determined to stamp out anyone else’s threat to his power. He must be demented if he feared my father — there was no more loyal duchy to the Crown than Felrawthy, other than Argorn perhaps. And yet Celimus has done his utmost to destroy both the great loyalists to the north and south. He thinks he has achieved it, but I live to fight on and this time it won’t be for him. It will be against him.’

  And against me, Valentyna thought miserably, should I marry Celimus. ‘So your mother brought the — pardon me for mentioning it again — the remains of your brother to me,’ she said aloud. ‘Who brought them to your family?’

  ‘Ylena, my lady, from Rittylworth. The head was left with the monks by a man called Romen Koreldy.’ Crys saw the Queen react to the name. ‘Do you know him?’

  Valentyna nodded. ‘I did. He is dead, no use to any of us now.’ She tried to make her words sound offhand but they came out forlornly. ‘I am pleased he rescued Ylena Thirsk.’

  Crys dared not explain Ylena’s fate.

  ‘Where is she now, do you think? You said she was at Tenterdyn with your family.’

  The lie came easily as Wyl had instructed. ‘She was taken away at the same time Elspyth and I departed, by a man called Aremys Farrow. He is a Grenadyne, knew Koreldy apparently.’ He saw the Queen’s brow furrow in thought and knew her next question before she asked it, so kept talking. ‘Apparently Koreldy asked that Aremys look in on her at Rittylworth.’ Crys shrugged, hoping he was being convincing. ‘I suppose when he saw what had happened there he came looking for her at Tenterdyn. Presumably Koreldy had mentioned that she had married one of the Donals.’

  ‘So where would this Aremys have taken her?’

  ‘He cautioned that if any of us knew where they headed we could be in danger from Celimus, who might target yet more death and destruction.’

  The Queen nodded. ‘It seems he was right.’ She was thinking of the note Elspyth had brought, but her thoughts were disrupted by a new voice joining the conversation.

  Liryk cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions, your highness.’

  ‘No?’ the Queen said. ‘How can you look me square in the eye, Commander, and tell me it is otherwise regarding the man I’m supposed to marry?’

  She instantly regretted her barb, knowing it was wrong of her to belittle this good man who had only her wellbeing at heart, and in front of strangers, Morgravians especially. ‘I am sorry, Commander Liryk,’ she hurriedly continued. ‘You are right, of course. I must think on what I have heard.’

  The damage was done though. The old soldier looked mortified and did not acknowledge her contrition. Valentyna could do nothing to repair his injured ego at present. Instead she stood.

  ‘Well, there is nothing more we can do here. We travel for Werryl immediately. Liryk, please make arrangements for the Lady Aleda to be transported to the palace chapel where Crys will have the opportunity to pray to Shar for his mother’s soul.’

  ‘Thank you, your highness,’ Crys murmured.

  ‘I wish I could do more,’ Valentyna said, taking her leave.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  AREMYS WAITED OUTSIDE THE great doors into Cailech’s private rooms. He had not recovered himself fully, although tantalising glimmers of information teased at his mind and he believed it was only a matter of time before his memory was restored. One stroke of luck was that he had finally remembered his identity, but he had no intention of revealing it just yet to the Mountain People. Much as he liked Myrt and his men, he remained suspicious of their intentions for him. Until he knew more, he would keep his secrets.

  With the arrival of his name a flurry of other memories had flooded into his consciousness, mostly from earlier years. More recent events remained vague; he now knew he had been on a journey with someone when his memory was lost, but he could not remember either the person or their destination. Aremys decided he would just have to trust now that his mind was intact and when it had fully recovered from the blow or whatever had so damaged his recall, it would return his memories to him.

  For now he was Cullyn and he would need his wits about him. Myrt had cautioned him not to play the innocent victim with the King. Aremys’s damaged memory had reminded him that Cailech was known as the Fox on Grenadyn… for good reason. He would heed his new friend’s warning.

  Myrt emerged. ‘The King will see you now. Remember what I said.’

  Aremys nodded and followed the Mountain man into a vast light-filled chamber warmed by an open fire at one end. He was entranced by the view from the tall windows.

  ‘This is Cullyn, my lord, although that is not his real name,’ Myrt said to the yellow-haired man who sat at one end of a table, eating.

  Aremys bowed low. Royalty made him feel anxious but this King looked anything but regal. He wore no outward signs of his status and stood to greet the stranger, wiping his hands on his breeches. ‘Welcome, Cullyn… or whatever your name is,’ he said.

  ‘King Cailech, I am honoured,’ Aremys replied, straightening from his bow.

  He had height and width on the King but then Aremys did on most men. This one, however, was not in any way cowed by his size, more amazed if anything.

  ‘Haldor’s arse, but you’re huge, man,’ Cailech said, good-naturedly. ‘A Grenadyne, I hear?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. We think so.’ Aremys grinned. ‘Apparently my accent gives me away. Plus I held my sword in Grenadyne fashion. It seems I understand Northernish and… well, I just know I’m not from Morgravia or Briavel.’

  ‘So what were you doing in the Razors just north of the Briavellian border?’ Cailech enquired, straight to the point.

  Aremys shrugged, genuinely baffled. ‘I cannot tell you, my lord. Not yet anyway. I am hoping my memories will not stay blurred for long.’

  Cailech held his gaze, granite-faced. It was a test, Aremys knew it, and much as he felt inclined to look away from that searching scrutiny he forced himself to hold the penetrating stare from a King used to finding out what he needed to.

  ‘And you fight like an experienced soldier, I hear.’

  Aremys was not sure how to answer. ‘I don’t remember any training, my lord, although I suspect there must have been some in my past. Yes, sire, I am good.’

  ‘A mercenary perhaps?’

  He nodded this time. ‘That’s probably true,’ he agreed. ‘I have been thinking as much myself.’

  ‘Join me,’ the King said.

  Aremys was taken aback. One moment Cailech was interrogating him, the next inviting him to eat with him. He sat. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, confused. ‘But I am not hungry.’

  The King gestured that it was of no matter. He resumed his meal and nodded to a man who immediately poured Aremys some wine. ‘Try this, it’s my favourite,’ Cailech encouraged.

  Aremys did and it was delicious. He told the King so.

  ‘It was also Romen Koreldy’s favourite when he was here,’ Cailech said conversationally.

  ‘Koreldy?’ Aremys frowned. ‘Who is he, my lord?’

  ‘I thought you knew him,’ Cailech replied, not looking up from his baked waterfowl. ‘Myrt tells me you mentioned his name.’

  ‘Did I?’ Aremys asked, looking around for Myrt. Even Cailech believed him — if this man was shamming then he was one
of the better actors. ‘When?’

  Cailech nodded towards Myrt who was standing near the window.

  ‘Wait!’ Aremys interrupted deciding to come clean. ‘I do remember now. I said Koreldy’s name when I was preparing to spar with Firl.’

  Myrt nodded.

  ‘So you do know him?’ the King continued, pleased that this newcomer was apparently being honest.

  ‘I must do, but I can’t dredge up from where. It was …’ he searched for the answer ‘…that’s right, it was something to do with the sword that reminded me of him. Is he a Grenadyne?’

  ‘He is,’ came the reply.

  Aremys shrugged. ‘That’s how I know his name then. I have no other recollection, other than the prompt from the sword of all things.’

  ‘He carries a sword of bluish hue, my King,’ Myrt said softly.

  Cailech said nothing in response.

  Aremys nodded, recalling a blue sword. ‘Yes, that is so. But I don’t know if I know this or am recalling something I’ve been told, as I remember nothing about the man, sire. Is he important?’

  ‘To me, yes.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Koreldy and I have unfinished business to settle,’ Cailech said, his unfathomable eyes glinting over the rim of his goblet. ‘To your full health returning, Cullyn,’ he said, raising that goblet now.

  ‘I’ll drink to that, your majesty,’ Aremys replied. ‘What is your plan for me?’

  Cailech resumed his eating. ‘Well, with no memory to draw upon I presume you are in no hurry to be anywhere right now, so why not remain with us? Myrt tells me you can help by teaching my men some sword skills.’

  Aremys could see no harm in it. He rather liked the Mountain Dwellers and could not help but like the direct man who ruled them. ‘I shall be glad to. Do I remain as your prisoner?’

  Cailech smiled now. ‘I think guest is a nicer word,’ he suggested.

  Aremys understood. It was true: he had no idea where he should be or why, so he might as well accept the hospitable imprisonment of the Mountain King and make the best of it until his memory returned fully.

  ‘Oh, and Cullyn, with regard to the Morgravian King. Do you have any thoughts on him… any memories coming to mind?’

  It could not hurt to be honest with this question, Aremys decided. He knew within himself that he hated the man called Celimus but could not remember why. ‘I hate him, sire… I think. When Myrt mentioned his name, my hackles rose. It must mean something, though I am yet to learn what.’

  The King nodded thoughtfully. ‘That makes two of us. I hate him enough to do battle with him. But I fear a war right now would be wasting my men.’

  Aremys looked startled. ‘I am sure my limited recall serves me faithfully when I suggest that to take on the Morgravian Legion would be suicide for your men. The Legion are well-drilled soldiers. I know your people are tough and do not lack for courage, but I would avoid out and out war with Morgravia.’

  ‘Unless of course we could bring them into the Razors. If we fought on our own territory, we would win.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Aremys agreed and believed it. ‘But Celimus would not be lured, sire. He’s too smart.’

  ‘Then you have met the man to have this opinion, I presume?’

  Aremys scratched his head and frowned. ‘You must be right — I suppose I have met him to feel so assured of his ability.’ There were thoughts niggling at the fringe of his mind; they were just out of reach for now which was frustrating, but Aremys reminded himself to hold faith, his memory would return.

  ‘Do you have another suggestion?’ the King asked, more as conversation than genuine expectancy that the injured man could offer advice.

  ‘Yes! Parley. As long as you’re talking, no Mountain Dweller is losing his life.’

  Cailech fixed Aremys with his hard gaze again. There was humour in it this time though, because the stranger had taken him by surprise. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Why fight — for what reason? Do you truly want Morgravia?’

  ‘I might,’ Cailech said, not prepared to share his thoughts.

  ‘No, sire. Why would you want Morgravia? Your people belong here in the mountains. But what if trade was free and your people could come and go across the border without fearing an arrow? That would be worth striving for — not dying for though.’

  Myrt smiled to himself in the background. Cullyn was turning Cailech’s own creed back on the King. He had preached a policy of negotiation for all of his early life and thus had united the tribes of the mountains.

  Aremys pressed on. ‘And by the same token, sire, Celimus might think he wants the Razors, but in truth why would he want the Mountain Kingdom? What is he going to do with it? No Morgravian would survive easily up here, save a few hardy northerners perhaps. And he certainly isn’t going to move his palace here, my lord. It’s pointless. From talking with Myrt — and I mean no offence, sire — I believe this is two obstinate kings, neither prepared to give ground. Why not get together and work out a solution? Spill no blood. Who knows what good might come of it?’

  It was a long speech for Aremys, but as much as he knew he hated Celimus, he did not for a moment believe the Mountain Dwellers were a match for the Legion. A new thought struck him. ‘And should you escalate these skirmishes I’ve been told of, my lord King, then if I was Celimus I would unite with Briavel to crush you. Between the Morgravian Legion and the Briavellian Guard, your people will die, sire, and in numbers no matter how brave they are. You are a nuisance, for want of a better word, and Morgravia might well put aside its differences with Briavel if it meant getting rid of the nuisance from the north.’ He had no idea where this assurance had come from and could only assume that his knowledge was returning at a rapid rate now.

  He expected a harsh reaction from Cailech, but the King nodded. ‘You speak sense, Cullyn. I just want to teach the upstart King a lesson, let him know we are not the simpleton barbarians he believes us to be. In truth, I could not leave my beloved mountains.’

  ‘But that’s precisely what you would have to do, sire, to conquer him. And anyway, there are many ways to skin a rat, my lord.’

  At this old northern adage the King laughed, green eyes twinkling with his mirth. ‘You mean there are other ways to teach the southerner a lesson.’

  Aremys nodded. ‘Precisely. It doesn’t have to be by proving you are mightier. Intelligence is the key here, sire. Prove you are the King with the vision for peace.’

  ‘Do you think Morgravia and Briavel will unite?’ Cailech asked suddenly.

  Aremys could not guess at this. ‘It was a theory, your majesty, but one with merit.’ He shrugged. ‘If I were the Morgravian King and facing war with you, I would seek to do the same. I think I’m right in saying that the Briavellians are a more tolerant people but they have their own suspicions about the Mountain Dwellers. Faced with fighting you, yes, I think they might strike up a tentative bargain with Morgravia to work to defeat you.’

  ‘And that’s precisely what the King is doing, Cullyn. Your instincts are sharp but your faded memory has not reminded you that Celimus is petitioning Queen Valentyna of Briavel in marriage.’

  At his words, old memories resurfaced and slotted into place. A man called Wyl suddenly came to Aremys’s mind. He could not see him in his mind’s eye but he was thinking orange-hair… a General. Morgravian no less, but try though he might he could not put a face to the memory. He kept seeing a woman’s eyes… feline and sensual. The naming of the Queen had prompted this memory of the Morgravian, as if the two were connected. He shook his head to rid it of the disjointed thoughts — he would have to consider them later.

  ‘All the more reason to parley, King Cailech. Seek friendship, seek trade, seek peace. You will be the winner; it is your people who would benefit more than the Morgravians, in truth.’

  ‘I like your style,’ Cailech said, after draining his goblet. ‘What do you suggest?’

  Aremys thought about it and the King did not seem to
mind the pause. ‘Do not be too proud,’ he said finally. ‘Lead the talks; show his people and your own that it was you who had the vision rather than he. Celimus is not trustworthy so you must tread carefully. And should the talks fail, then no one can accuse the Mountain King of acting in anything but a chivalrous manner. They will know you held out the hand of peace.’

  Cailech stood, impressed and a little startled. He needed to think this audacious idea through, perhaps have the Stones read.

  ‘I like you, Cullyn of Grenadyn. We shall talk more. Join me later for a ride. You must see Galapek, my new stallion.’

  Rashlyn moved the Stones about before him. He was alone and he was baffled. They spoke to him of change. Big change, but he could make no sense of it. He cast again, looking specifically for any indication of his greatest fear — the death of King Cailech. He had saved Cailech’s life once previously, when Koreldy had threatened it all those years ago, now he regularly searched the Stones for answers to Cailech’s longevity.

  Alas, change once more was all the Stones would yield. What did it mean? Without Cailech he had no power. He must not allow the King to be threatened in any way and yet here was Cailech murmuring about escalating his dislike for the Morgravian King war.

  Rashlyn moved restlessly to the window of the chamber he liked to work in, well removed from the hustle and bustle of daily life in the cave. In his increasingly rare lucid moments, such as now, Rashlyn knew he was losing his mind. It was a slow and tormenting process and he hoped this inability to get more out of the Stones was not part of that disintegration. He pulled angrily at the wild beard he hid behind and admitted to himself that spells that once were so easy for him to devise were now challenging. Oh, he was still brilliantly skilled but the talent was beginning to elude him and he alone knew it. Stranger still, he was beginning to recall in vivid detail memories of playing with his brother in childhood.