The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Anyway, Celimus, has this not achieved the outcome you wished for?’ Cailech’s question surprised everyone.

  ‘Pardon me?’ was all the King of Morgravia managed.

  The Mountain King waved a hand in mock disgust. ‘It’s just that we seem to be wasting time over petty details. You wanted this woman, you have her. Aremys has delivered as he said he would. Why is there a case to argue?’

  Cailech was right. Jessom communicated as much in the gaze with which he impaled his King. Why was Celimus so intent on making this conversation public? He was the one making a fool of himself. Unless Jessom was very wrong, Farrow seemed to be telling the truth.

  There was no accounting for the moods of Celimus or the shifts in his thinking. His whole body seemed to relax after Cailech had posed his question, and Aremys could not help but compare the two kings for their capriciousness. They made a good match.

  ‘Why indeed, my friend?’ Celimus echoed. ‘You are right,’ he added, nodding slightly at his guest and then returning his attention to the mercenary. ‘Thank you, Aremys, for delivering Ylena into my hands. To be honest, I hadn’t thought you would trust me sufficiently to hand over the bait you dangled in front of my nose before you and your new employer left my realm for the safety of the Razors. After all, it was your insurance.’ His last few words were not lost on anyone in the chamber.

  Aremys took the moment to bow and cover his intense relief at Cailech’s support. After straightening, and the chance to gather his thoughts, he said, ‘Your majesty, as I have explained before, I am a mercenary and always for hire. You have shown me nothing but generosity and I would have been foolhardy not to trust such a powerful monarch.’ He nodded at the King. ‘I would like to be able to work for you often, sire. Ylena Thirsk is nothing to me. My communication to your Queen simply suggested that the person to whom she offered sanctuary was your open enemy, and that she would be wise not to risk her new King’s wrath by sheltering her.’

  ‘And it worked, by Shar!’ Celimus said. ‘You are a cunning man, Aremys Farrow.’

  As are you, you snake, Aremys thought; instead he replied, ‘I am simply a man for hire, my lord. I take opportunities where and when they present themselves. Do you still wish me to kill her, sire?’

  ‘I think I can manage that myself if and when needed,’ Celimus said, a cruel smile flitting over his mouth. Cailech frowned but held his tongue. ‘So where is she?’ the King continued, looking at Jessom.

  ‘In one of the outhouses, sire. I said you would summon her at your pleasure.’

  ‘And how is she?’

  ‘Surprisingly feisty,’ Jessom commented.

  ‘The Thirsk girl has found some spine, has she? I shall enjoy seeing this. So will you, Cailech. Do you know of the Thirsks?’

  ‘Only by reputation,’ he said. ‘This is the daughter of General Fergys Thirsk, I presume?’

  ‘Mmm, yes, the sister of Wyl Thirsk — finally back in my care.’ Celimus laughed. ‘Have her presented to me during this afternoon’s feasting, Jessom. I should like Cailech to see how we deal with treachery in Morgravia.’

  Aremys felt as though the blood had stopped running through his veins. He needed to warn Wyl. The thought that his friend would probably die again in a few hours disturbed the Grenadyne so much that he could not breathe. He loosened his collar.

  ‘May I see her?’ he said, shocked that he had spoken without thinking it through.

  ‘Why?’ Celimus looked at him sideways.

  Aremys thought quickly. ‘She knew I was following her, sire. I just want to remind her that I always catch my prey.’

  Celimus clapped. ‘You have a nasty streak, Grenadyne. By all means. Jessom will go with you. Get her ready for us,’ he said to his Chancellor.

  He turned to Cailech. ‘Let us get some air. How about a ride — just us? That horse of yours looks splendid. I should like to try him for myself.’

  The Mountain King smiled. ‘Delighted. Am I to assume that we are done here? Formalities concluded?’ He sensed a trap.

  ‘Well, my friend,’ Celimus replied, and Cailech noted this was the second time the southern King had addressed him this way, ‘I am about to be married to the most beautiful woman of our age. Aremys here has just kept his word and delivered to me the last of the Thirsks whom I shall see die before my eyes shortly. I can’t think of anything I feel less like right now than the threat of war between our realms — which is what I presume is the alternative to an alliance?’

  Cailech watched his counterpart carefully as he spoke. He noticed also that Celimus was deliberately parading over him. This man had no intention of honouring a union. What he wanted was sovereignty over Briavel and the Razor Kingdom. The marriage achieved the first, and the pretence at friendship would achieve the second. The green gazes of two powerful men met and each understood the other very clearly.

  ‘It would mean war, yes,’ Cailech finally answered, realising what a sham this whole event had been. His thought that he could charm this man or appeal to his good sense amused him suddenly. He had been carried away by the vision of the Grenadyne, but both of them had misunderstood the main point: Celimus did not want friendship or even harmony. All the King of Morgravia wanted was absolute authority over his neighbours. He would rule the whole continent — that was his dream. Neither Cailech nor Aremys had factored in the southerner’s avarice or his self-delusion of might. They had gone into this like excited boys, stupidly believing that Celimus would also be seeking peace, trade, community. How innocent and how ignorant he had been. And now he was trapped. Would Celimus allow them to leave here alive? Perhaps he cared not for the lives of those held ransom, and although Aremys had bargained for safety using Ylena Thirsk as bait, it seemed Aremys had delivered early. Why? What had he to gain from that? Why had he trusted the madman who ruled Morgravia?

  ‘That must be avoided then,’ Celimus commented. Cailech had to remember what he was referring to. Ah yes, war. It was time to unleash his final trick then, all that stood between him and certain death at the end of this man’s sword — or more likely, that of one of the King’s henchmen. It was unlikely Celimus would dirty his hands with Mountain blood.

  ‘King Celimus,’ Cailech said, standing now to look at his enemy eye to eye. ‘My emissary here, Aremys, may be far too trusting, but I am not. Until now I could not be sure that you would see things in a similar way to me. I had to take the precaution that your desires might differ from mine.’

  Aremys felt as though the temperature in the hall had dropped to freezing point. The gently crackling fires at either end of the room had no effect on the cold which had descended. He had to admire Celimus when the southern King barely twitched at the couched threat that now lay between the two monarchs. What had Cailech kept up his sleeve?

  Celimus asked the question which burned at the silent lips of Aremys and Jessom. ‘Ah, further insurance I gather. Tell me, King Cailech, so that I understand clearly, why is it that, although you don’t trust me you also don’t fear me, even though you are on my land, in my house, under my guards’ watchful eyes?’

  ‘Please don’t take it personally, Celimus, it’s just the simple caution of a King who knows how easy it is to give trust too quickly.’

  Celimus nodded indulgently as if to say he truly understood.

  ‘There are two thousand Razor warriors currently gathered in the foothills,’ Cailech said.

  ‘Two thousand!’ The number clearly took the Morgravian’s breath away.

  Cailech grinned good-naturedly. ‘And another two thousand camped a little bit higher.’

  Aremys closed his eyes. He had definitely underestimated Cailech — as had Celimus.

  ‘And what are their instructions?’

  ‘To hit Tenterdyn with full might if my second, Myrt, does not give the all clear by nightfall.’

  ‘Nightfall? You hadn’t factored in much time for the feast, my friend.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure I’d make it to dinnertime.’


  ‘Bravo, Cailech. You are a man after my own heart. You will make your rendezvous with your men.’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘Alive,’ and Celimus laughed, genuinely now.

  Aremys felt as though a fist which had been gripping his insides had suddenly relaxed.

  ‘I hope you and Farrow will at least agree to dine with me,’ the King went on.

  Cailech nodded, green eyes ablaze with triumph. ‘And our union?’

  ‘Begins today,’ Celimus lied. ‘My men will be instructed that people of the Razors are no longer targets. I will put together a delegation, to be led by Jessom here, and I suggest you do the same. They can nut out how we shall run this union. Let us clasp hands, before our two witnesses, to signify the formal alliance of our two realms.’

  The King of Morgravia held out his hand and King Cailech of the Razors gripped it firmly. ‘To peace,’ he said, no longer believing it could happen as long as this King sat upon the southern throne.

  ‘To peace,’ Celimus echoed, privately laughing.

  NINETEEN

  WYL HEARD THE APPROACHING footsteps but had anticipated soldiers arriving, not the two men who entered the hut.

  ‘Look, Ylena,’ Jessom said, a note of triumph in his voice, ‘I’ve brought you a visitor.’

  Aremys spoke before Wyl could answer; it was his only chance for a warning. ‘I thought it would be polite of me to introduce myself, Lady Ylena, as I was the one pursuing you on behalf of King Celimus. It was I who encouraged your protector to hand you back to Morgravia.’

  He watched the surprise leave Ylena’s face and felt safe in the knowledge that Jessom would not interpret the truth. There was a momentary hesitation before she replied, but so slight he was sure he alone was sensitive to it.

  ‘Congratulations, sir,’ Wyl said. ‘Do come closer and allow me to spit on you and the trade you ply.’

  Bravo, Wyl, Aremys thought, thank you for saving my life. Now how am I going to save yours?

  ‘You high and mighty Legion wives and daughters are all the same — don’t think your men are any different. I’ve heard what happened at Rittylworth —’

  Aremys was interrupted by the arrival of a Legionnaire at the doorway.

  ‘Chancellor Jessom, the King wishes to speak to you before he leaves on his ride.’

  ‘I’ll be just a minute, Farrow,’ Jessom said. ‘Try not to make the wildcat too angry — her claws are sharp,’ and he smiled thinly as he left the hut.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Wyl whispered.

  ‘Listen to me, Wyl!’ Aremys urged in an equally terrified whisper. ‘They are going to kill you.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to frighten me?’

  The big man frowned. It had not occurred to him that this was not a catastrophe. ‘I… I suppose not.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here — I want him to kill me.’

  Aremys shook his head. ‘This is all too much for me,’ he groaned. He stole a look over his shoulder to the courtyard where Jessom was conversing with his sovereign. ‘Look, I used you as bargaining power. I told Celimus I could deliver you to him — it was my insurance to get Cailech and myself out of here alive.’

  ‘I gathered as much,’ Wyl said, just a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

  ‘I had no idea you would deliver yourself. It was just a ruse — to buy us time.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now. What intrigues me is how you and Cailech come to be here together.’

  ‘It was the Thicket. It separated us.’

  Understanding dawned on Ylena’s face. ‘I thought as much. Any plan in mind?’

  ‘None,’ Aremys said and looked at Ylena’s lovely face with despair.

  ‘I’ll think of something. When do you leave?’

  ‘Tonight,’ Aremys replied, then heard Jessom’s footsteps approaching. He gestured to Wyl, who quickly switched Ylena’s expression to one of rage.

  ‘Get out!’ he screamed.

  Jessom entered to hear her shriek. ‘Oh dear, I did warn you, Farrow.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. What are you going to do to her?’

  The Chancellor looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well, the King wants her dead, as you know.’ It was a callous comment designed to frighten Ylena.

  ‘Good, I can’t wait,’ Wyl said.

  Jessom was unable to hide his astonishment at Ylena’s fearlessness. ‘I was going to say that I was hoping to persuade him otherwise, but the young lady seems determined to die.’ Jessom shook his head in wonder. ‘I imagine King Celimus will make an example of her.’

  ‘That’s risky, isn’t it?’ Aremys queried.

  The Chancellor sighed. ‘He will want to impress his regal companion.’

  ‘He won’t — not in this manner,’ Aremys said, desperate to prevent Wyl’s death, no matter how much his friend wanted it.

  ‘We shall see. Come, Farrow, I trust you have gloated sufficiently. Farewell, Ylena. Prepare yourself to meet your King.’

  ‘He is no King of mine, Jessom!’ Wyl called out after the two men. A memory of kneeling before King Magnus filled his mind, and he recalled how he had pledged his life for Celimus. ‘And gladly will I give it,’ he muttered now. He hoped Shar would hear and let Magnus know.

  Cailech allowed Celimus to ride the exquisite white stallion which had been bred in the Razors. The Morgravian King’s silence as they guided their horses towards the back of Tenterdyn where the lush plains stretched towards the mountains attested to his enjoyment of the beautiful beast.

  ‘He is extraordinary,’ Celimus finally said, when they halted beneath a small stand of trees.

  ‘He is yours.’

  ‘I could not —’

  ‘No, really. Let me gift him to you to seal our historic union. It is appropriate. I reared this horse from a newborn colt. He has a twin brother, identical. His mother is one of my most treasured brood mares and his sire is a tough old rogue with perfect bloodlines. He suits you as much as he does me. Now we shall both have white stallions of the same family. Fitting, don’t you think?’

  Celimus gave Cailech one of his dazzling smiles. This gift pleased him more than anything the Mountain King had brought with him; it meant more than the alliance itself. ‘Thank you. I will think of you whenever I ride him.’

  ‘His name is Wildfire, like the falling star trails we see on a clear night in the Razors.’

  ‘And what can I give you in return?’

  Cailech shrugged. ‘Oh, I’ll think of something,’ he said, and both men laughed.

  ‘Whatever you want, it is yours.’

  ‘Be careful. That promise sounds wide-reaching. I might choose your bride-to-be.’

  Celimus gave a wolfish grin. ‘Whatever you want that is here in Felrawthy, then.’

  ‘Our fathers would be proud of this alliance, Celimus,’ Cailech said, his voice suddenly wistful.

  ‘Not mine. I never made him proud.’

  ‘What you have done today, and what you have achieved between Morgravia and Briavel, should make him sit up in his tomb and applaud.’

  Celimus liked the notion. He laughed, enjoying his companion despite not wanting to, despite deliberately planning to betray him. He liked Cailech. They were similar. Not in looks of course but in… what was it? He reached for that intangible something that he had recognised in Cailech. Texture; that was it. They had a similar texture. Both kings, both ambitious. Celimus believed the Mountain King was as ruthless as he himself was. The likeness pleased him; made him feel confident in a deeper sense, rather than relying entirely on ego. Cailech’s personality, though less flamboyant, was just as large and domineering as Celimus’s own. His father had seen these facets of his son as flaws, and yet here they were reflected in another man whom his father had considered powerful, talented, intrepid. Celimus shook his head.

  ‘My father hated me, Cailech. We hated each other, in truth. He killed my mother — I’m sure of it — and if he could have been granted a single wish, no doubt he would have see
n me dead too.’

  Cailech wanted to suggest that this was a paranoid perspective, but wisely reconsidered. The youngster was opening up; it would be imprudent to antagonise him now. Surely this was not part of the planned script for the meeting?

  ‘You will carve your own way for your own realm, my friend. Forget him. He is dust. Not forgotten, I grant you — you will always feel his shadow falling over you — but remember, that is all it is. A shade, no substance. He cannot hurt you now or command you. You rule Morgravia and you have vision. Your people are fortunate.’

  Celimus’s chest swelled with pride to hear his fellow sovereign speak of him with such respect, but it deflated as he pondered the last few words. ‘No, they don’t see it that way. They fear me.’

  Cailech reached down to stroke the mane of the borrowed horse he was riding. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘Your people are in awe of you. My people are just frightened of me.’

  ‘You have the power to change that, Celimus. And within weeks, not just your people, but the citizens of Briavel and even my people, will see what you have achieved: peace throughout the whole region. What an extraordinary time this is and you are the one who has brought it about. I am proud to be a part of it.’

  Celimus searched the Mountain King’s face for guile, suspecting this man was simply oiling him up, but he saw nothing but the hard green gaze of a man determined to forge peace. He saw the truth in his neighbour’s eyes and in that moment he made a decision which went against everything that made Celimus who he was. He dared himself to take the challenge. Charged by this man’s encouragement and pride he decided to maintain the alliance. He would not betray Cailech as planned; he would keep his promise and spare lives. He would ensure that the union worked, even though it meant compromising his grand plans of imperialism. In one of the rarest moments of his life, Celimus smiled and meant it. ‘Let it be so then,’ he said, his voice almost catching with the emotion he felt.

  Cailech saw it and realised that he had just saved hundreds of lives and ensured a new peace for his kingdom. He felt invigorated by what had been achieved by a simple conversation on horseback. ‘Remind me to gift you a horse more often,’ he said, his eyebrow arching.