Revenge

by Fiona McIntosh

  It was the Flames. They echoed his Colours and rushed towards him, dancing around him, begging him to follow swiftly and he did, racing with them.

  Suddenly Tor hit his own body with such speed and force that it convulsed. He heard Arabella scream but he could not open his eyes. He could hardly breathe. Did he still fit his body? It all felt so wrong. Breathe.

  Solyana growled into his mind. You frightened us.

  He tried to sit up. Arabella helped him, cradling him in her arms.

  ‘I told you not to take chances, Tor.’ Arabella snatched at tears and moved away from him quickly, disappearing into the blur which was now his vision. He was seeing through his own eyes again.

  The Flames had quietened and were glowing softly white once again.

  Darmud Coril was present. ‘I am glad you are back with us, Torkyn Gynt.’

  ‘Thank you for sending them,’ he was able to say, his voice gritty.

  ‘They came of their own accord,’ the god replied. ‘They fled to you, my son. They were very frightened for you. They told me they must guide you home.’

  Tor stroked one of the Flames and it chimed its pleasure. He reached out silently to them all, using his own Colours, which it seemed only they understood. ‘Thank you, my friends.’

  Solyana padded away. Her posture told him how relieved she was.

  Tor could not move very quickly. He was not wearing his body with ease yet but he caught up with her awkwardly.

  I’m sorry.

  I know, she said sadly. We have all come through so much. It is terrifying to think we could lose you before you have achieved what you must.

  He hated it when any of them talked openly about his personal destiny—whatever that was. I have lost Cloot.

  I gathered.

  How?

  He is not with you. Cloot is your first-bonded Paladin; he would die before he left your side.

  He is not dead.

  He may be. But that would be his choice. Her voice was even sadder. Tor rounded on the silver wolf. Don’t speak so, Solyana!

  Death releases us, Tor. You must understand this.

  I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of it, he said, limping awkwardly.

  Move around as much as you can. Feeling will return soon. She was matter of fact again.

  I shall be walking a long way, he said.

  Do you wish for company?

  To Caradoon?

  Arabella had returned. She heard his last words.

  ‘You’re going back?’ She was shocked.

  ‘Yes. I leave immediately.’

  ‘You cannot,’ the priestess said.

  ‘I must find Cloot.’

  ‘Stop him, Solyana. Tell him.’

  Tor stopped. ‘Tell me what?’

  Solyana, calm as always, spoke quietly. We believe the Tenth is failing.

  ‘How long?’ Tor asked flatly.

  ‘We don’t know.’ Arabella’s voice was filled with frustration and fear. ‘That is why you cannot leave the safety of the Heartwood.’

  Tor sighed. ‘Arabella, that is every reason why I must leave the safety of the Heartwood. I do no good here. I am the prey, remember.’

  He stepped towards her and she allowed him to give her a brief, hard hug. He kissed her lips softly. ‘I promise you, I will take no more chances but I must find my falcon. He belongs to me—and I to him.’

  He looked into her smoky, dark eyes and finally she nodded.

  The Heartwood will guide you once again, Tor, the wolf offered.

  Tor stroked Solyana’s thick, shaggy fur and took a moment to marvel once again at its silvery tips which seemed to shimmer as she moved.

  Solyana, can I cast myself to Caradoon as I did when Alyssa and I left Caremboche?

  No, Tor. You can only bring yourself back to the Heartwood in such a manner. You will have to journey to Caradoon by more traditional methods, though the trees will make it as fast as they can. If it was possible for a wolf to grin, Solyana did so and it puzzled Tor. Enjoy your journey, she said. Everything you need will be provided at the edge of the Great Forest.

  Tor stood by the stream where he had first made love to Alyssa. He kneeled by its gently passing water and drank from it, trying to conjure up the vision of that moonlit night. As he swallowed, he tasted her once again, briefly, and he thanked the stream for such a gift.

  Running through the wolf’s instructions once more, he straightened, put his hands by his sides and closed his eyes to wait for the sign.

  He had learned to trust the Heartwood implicitly. It would never harm him.

  Tor felt the branches around his ankles and heard the rustle of their leaves. He opened his eyes and felt a surge of excitement. He steadied himself as the foliage entwined, then took a deep breath before the bent trees catapulted him into the air. Travelling again. He felt the exhilaration of flying once more, this time in his own body, and howled with the joy of it.

  Another tree caught him deftly and, before he had a second to let out a breath, he was thrown again. This happened repeatedly. Each time the trees cradled his fall and catapulted him on to their companions. Tor began to laugh. He could swear the trees were laughing with him and he realised he was sending out his Colours towards them, thanking them as he tumbled closer and closer towards Caradoon.

  He arrived on the Great Forest’s outskirts a day later. The trees had been kind, refreshing and encouraging him throughout the journey, finally setting him down just half a day’s walk from his destination. Solyana had spoken true. A small pile of items had been left for him on the fringe of the northern finger of the forest. They had been chosen carefully. Fresh clothes, sufficiently unremarkable that he could pass for any transient in the pirate town. A leather satchel, which he slung across his body, contained a few curios which no doubt would explain themselves later.

  Tor cast to Cloot but found nothing. So, with no reason to linger, he turned to the Great Forest, bowed reverently to the trees in thanks, heard their gentle whispers and started forth on what he sensed was going to be a long journey.

  7

  Alyssa’s Secret

  Alyssa should have been enjoying a leisurely morning: her school classes had been cancelled as several children had succumbed to a mild fever. It was a rare occasion to have these hours free for herself. The King was riding with Nyria on the moors and was not due back for several hours. She told herself to move from his work chambers, go for a walk, perhaps spend some time with Gyl. But no, instead she found herself touching Lorys’s desk, even his chair, tidying and re-tidying documents which no longer required her attention. She just could not bring herself to leave his rooms and inwardly chastised herself for it.

  Alyssa walked to the tall windows overlooking the main courtyard and stared out, recalling the last time she had been alone in the King’s quarters. It was when he and Nyria were away on their royal tour of the realm. Nyria had had to argue her case with Lorys before he would consider it, but finally the King had recognised the value of such an exercise.

  When Alyssa first suspected that the King was paying her undue attention, she had enjoyed the feelings it provoked in her. Eventually, she had come to accept how deeply smitten she herself was with the King. For all her efforts to see him as a darkness in her life, she had to admit that she had come to appreciate him as the sparkling light which illuminated her days. She had missed him terribly while he was away on the royal tour, but had schooled herself never to show her heart openly. Alyssa kept her yearnings to herself, convinced that it was her burden alone. However, now that she was sure of the King’s ardour, she felt frightened.

  He was definitely speaking to her silently, through stolen glances and smiles. She could feel his attention like a cord, reaching out to attach itself to her. His eyes flirted, yet he had not touched her. Nor would he, she was sure, for he loved his Queen.

  Alyssa wondered if she should leave the palace. This was dangerous. She would not be involved in such a scandal and if her presence
was tempting the King into something he might regret, then she must remove that temptation.

  But it wasn’t just Lorys’s feelings towards her she was afraid of; it was also her own feelings towards Lorys. How she yearned for his touch, even if it came only by brushing past him; how she craved his presence and contrived to lengthen their working hours together or to meet with him on some petty matter at night. How she revelled in those rare occasions when he might ask her to share a glass of wine with him and she was able to look him directly in the eye and feel as though they were just two friends conversing.

  But after such precious times with him, she hated herself for the feeling that she was somehow betraying her beloved Queen. Did Nyria know of her growing feelings for Lorys? A woman’s intuition was powerful indeed and yet the Queen never referred to these occasional meetings or let slip any suggestion that she might resent her two favourites being so close. In fact, Alyssa reassured herself, Nyria openly encouraged their companionship, seemed to want them to form an emotional link with one another.

  Alyssa laid her face against the cool of the glass. It would do her no good to leave the palace; neither would it serve the royals or Gyl for her to run from what were probably empty fears. No, she would remain there and continue to work hard for Tallinor. And she promised herself that she would do absolutely nothing to encourage any advances or intimacy with the King, imagined or otherwise.

  While Alyssa was making her silent promise, Queen Nyria was out on the moors with the King, riding her beloved Freycin. Neither Lorys nor Herek had minded when she decided to join them for their morning ride, even though she knew it was the time when they discussed the business of the day. Gyl often accompanied them too and Nyria knew that the King genuinely enjoyed the time spent with the young man.

  The Queen had awoken early after a strange and vivid dream. A woman had appeared to her and told her she must be with Lorys this morning. The dream, along with her own desire to remain close to the King at this time, had prompted Nyria to instruct her staff to prepare her to ride out with her husband and the Prime. Now that she was out on the moors, she felt glad for the decision.

  She found her mind turning to the relationship between Lorys and his young secretary. In the past, she had found herself grateful for the girl’s calming influence on him. ‘You have a way with the King, Alyssa,’ she often told her. None of Alyssa’s beauty or charms were lost on the older woman and recently she had sensed that the special look in the King’s eye, previously reserved for her, was being turned upon Alyssa.

  Nyria felt no animosity towards the girl. If anything, she knew Alyssa was unaware of the effect she had on the men of the palace. Nyria, however, could see that not a male soul on the staff could resist this young woman’s charms. She was sure even old Koryn experienced a blood rush when Alyssa was around!

  Alyssa spoke kindly to everyone and was generous of spirit. Only the shallowest of women could dislike her, despite the fact that she was easily the most beautiful woman in Tal.

  Nyria had noted that the King always requested Alyssa’s presence at formal occasions these days. Of course, she shone everywhere she went. Nyria believed Alyssa could wear sackcloth and still look like an angel. Her petite build and radiance set her well and truly above the heavily rouged and pouting female courtiers. If this was not enough, Nyria had known since she first began to work with Alyssa that the girl possessed an extraordinary intelligence and inherent strength. She sensed that Alyssa, if pushed, would be a fearful opponent. Yes, Nyria firmly believed she had done the King a great service by insisting he take Alyssa on as his secretary, even though she knew instinctively that Lorys was falling in love with his beautiful aide.

  It hurt of course. She and Lorys had been childhood sweethearts. Nyria, the daughter of a loyal wealthy noble who had fought bravely alongside old King Mort, had grown up at the palace and she and Lorys had played together in the palace gardens while their fathers were in the war room, planning battle strategy. She smiled. Thank the Light that Lorys, during his reign, had never had to preside over meetings in that room. Still, she was quietly grateful for that time they had shared as innocents. And it had been no surprise when their two families had betrothed them. She adored Lorys. She had never loved another. To this day she still loved him with the same intensity. It was a fairytale relationship; she conceded this. It was cruel indeed that towards the end of her days another woman should steal his heart.

  Even though she had contrived the idea, could they not have waited until she was gone? The Queen breathed in the fresh air which was scented with lavender. She knew her time was short and she accepted it without a fight. That was why the tour around the Kingdom had been so important to her. It was their last chance to ride through the Land as King and Queen, to meet their subjects, talk with them, eat with them and show their love for them.

  Nyria was glad that she had achieved this. It was her farewell to Tallinor and its people whom she loved.

  Lorys thought they still had a lifetime together. But young Torkyn Gynt had warned her during that terrible meeting just prior to his execution that she must take care. It was a cryptic message but she had understood that he knew her heart was failing. He had looked inside her long ago and seen how sick she was. He had saved her life then, but he could not save her now. He was lying in his own cold grave, wherever that was.

  That lovely young man, decaying in the earth. If Nyria had one regret, it was the blot which Tor’s execution had left on Lorys’s reign. The boy need not have died. Lorys had not thought it through carefully and had refused to be counselled on the matter…not even by his wife. Perhaps, the Queen thought, he had already been under Alyssa’s spell even then; making rash decisions because he was blinded by desire. The truth of it was, Lorys could have saved Alyssa’s lover if he had wanted to.

  Oh, her heart hurt in various ways.

  The physical pain was becoming more regular, more intense—in fact, she realised, she could feel a spasm coming on right now. She looked over to where her husband was talking intently with his Prime. As she watched, he laughed. She loved him so much and yet she wanted his reign to go on. Their failure to produce an heir was not for lack of trying, yet it seemed it was not to be. It was the only flaw in a successful marriage of almost thirty summers. But perhaps there was still time for Lorys to achieve what she knew was a secretly held dream.

  Nyria hoped that Lorys would choose Alyssa as his next Queen. He could do no better. She was perfect: young, beautiful, brilliant, strong and captivated by the King; though it was obvious to Nyria that Alyssa had not yet accepted that notion herself. She could tell this through the girl’s body language. She was still awkward around Lorys. But all the signs were there. Unknown to both her husband and Alyssa, Nyria had watched them for a long time now. She had seen how their eyes betrayed them, following one another, hoping the other would not notice. They did not realise that she had noticed; the quiet observer of their growing love. One day, she thought, they might appreciate the irony that it was she who had insisted on them working together; she who had begged Alyssa to give the King a chance and not hate him for ever.

  Lorys was still kind, loving and attentive towards her but his desires were for another. Nyria accepted that now. They had enjoyed a strong and healthy sexual relationship in the past, but as Nyria’s ailments had become more persistent, their lovemaking had become infrequent to the point where Nyria could not quite remember when they had last shared such intimacy. She considered this. That long ago? That was not right. Lorys had needs.

  As Nyria urged Freycin to catch up with the two men, she felt the pain in her chest intensify. She shook her head with regret at how she had failed Lorys and decided on one last gallop across the moors with him.

  Saxon regained consciousness with a mighty headache and a tender lump on his head. He sat up in the ditch and looked in confusion at Herek’s men, who had found him lying there and roused him from his stupor. Once he realised what had happened, he made ready to ret
urn to Caradoon, but the soldiers suggested he should make his way back to Tal instead as it was much closer than Caradoon.

  Saxon tentatively touched the sore spot on his head, grimacing as he pieced together events. Quist must have ordered his men to dump Saxon so far south that it would be impossible for him to return quickly to the pirate town. Saxon realised the soldiers were right: his best option would be to return to Tal.

  Filled with dread for Cloot, Saxon journeyed with speed back to the palace. He intended to warn Alyssa against Goth and then return to Caradoon. He had a score to settle with the thief, Janus Quist. He also had to find Cloot. The Second of the Paladin must not be left to die in a sack in the bowels of a rat-infested pirate ship. Only Saxon knew of this crime. It was up to him to avenge it.

  On arriving in Tal, Saxon reported immediately to the Prime, who had only just returned there himself. Somewhat confused, Herek accepted the Kloek’s decision to leave the Shield. Saxon had never been an official member yet all had got used to his jovial, confident presence. Over the last few years, he had trained many of the men with great skill, imparting secrets of balance and how to rely on the senses rather than just eyes and brute strength. Herek genuinely liked the man and would miss his wit and companionship. He could not draw the Kloek on the reason for this sudden departure but he could tell Saxon was in earnest. Herek was not ready, however, for the second piece of news which his friend delivered.

  ‘You saw him?’

  Saxon looked grim. ‘Almost as closely as we stand now. He was in such a drug-induced stupor I could have grabbed him as one would a child, but I was clubbed senseless by a thief. Perfect timing, eh?’ He smiled ruefully. ‘The thief got only a little coin from me but I lost my prize.’

  ‘Was that woman with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Saxon could see Herek wrestling to maintain his self-control.

  ‘I hear our men found you.’

  ‘They did. I was groaning in a heap by the roadside. The pirates drove me south and dumped me there—gave them the time they needed to ready their ship and be off, I suppose.’ He rubbed a spot on his head which was still tender from the blow.