‘Adongo of the Moruks,’ the Queen called.
The chieftain stepped forward.
‘I cannot free you. You are a slave, owned now by the captain, and only he can free you. But I can offer you the chance to avenge the death of your loved ones. Will you fight?’
‘Yes, your majesty, I will fight.’
‘Then let the contest take place now, before the midday trading.’
The audience was over, though the Queen would remain at the marketplace to ensure her decrees were met.
Tor, Quist, his men and Locky gathered in a huddle around Adongo, whilst Beryd and Bluth allied themselves with Haryd. They looked nervous. If he failed, they would face a similar fate.
Locky introduced the captain to his friend. ‘Tor, this is Janus Quist.’
Quist clasped Tor’s hand in the Tallinese manner. ‘Locky has told me all about you and your connection with Eryn. She has asked me to help you find what you seek. I am at your service. What is it I can do for you?’
Tor looked at the man who had threatened Saxon’s life and stolen Cloot. He was not a man to be trifled with. There was no point in hedging.
‘Do you remember stealing a falcon from a Kloek outside a stracca den in Caradoon?’
Quist pulled his hand away as if he had been stung and stared at Tor. His eyes narrowed. ‘And what is it to you if I do?’
‘I have come a long way to get the bird back. You stole it from me. It did not belong to the Kloek.’
Surprise registered in Quist’s face but just then the Queen’s head guardsman called the proceedings to order.
‘There is no time for this now,’ Quist said. ‘We shall talk later.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ Tor replied gravely.
They turned back to Adongo. He had tied a colourful loincloth around his waist.
Quist spoke first in clipped Ciprean. ‘What is your choice?’
‘Of what?’ Adongo said calmly.
‘Weapon, man! Did you think you were going to fight with fiddlesticks?’
Tor tried. ‘Adongo, you chose to fight Haryd. Do you know how to fight?’
‘I am not a fighter, Tor. I am Paladin; a protector.’
Quist shook his head and walked away, muttering about riddles.
‘Adongo, you must choose a weapon. This is a fight to the death.’
‘No weapon is required,’ Adongo said. The man was truly frustrating.
‘How will you defend yourself?’ Tor’s voice betrayed his concern.
‘In the Moruk way,’ was Adongo’s final comment on the subject.
‘Haryd of The Wasp chooses the cutlass,’ the guardsman announced. ‘And Adongo of the Moruks chooses…’
He stopped as he realised the man standing in the centre of the compound held nothing in his hands.
‘Adongo of the Moruks, you must choose a weapon.’
The chieftain stood silently, looking every bit as regal as a king. His eyes were closed and his long, lean arms hung loosely at his sides. He ignored everyone.
Tor spoke to him via the link. Remember your destiny—the young one whom you must help.
My bonded one is almost here, Tor. I sense it.
Then you must not risk death. He could hardly put it any plainer.
I will survive. But Haryd will not die at my hand. Nor will he die at yours.
It was a veiled message. Adongo’s charcoal-coloured eyes were open now and fixed firmly on Tor. He was warning him not to interfere with his powers or by any other means.
Tor shook his head; he felt helpless. Haryd was brandishing two cutlasses. He was barefoot now, wearing only breeches, no shirt.
‘Fight!’ called the guardsman.
Haryd began to circle the Moruk, swinging the blades in a menacing rhythm. He looked comfortable with them. Adongo still did not move; once again the eyes were closed in the lean face.
‘What is he doing?’ Locky groaned.
‘We have to trust him,’ was all Tor could think of to say. But it was of no comfort even to him.
Haryd continued his circling, trying to guess what the Moruk might do. However, he was not a man of patience or foresight. True to his impulsive character, he made a run at his enemy, screaming his intent, both weapons lifted high above his head.
Just as the pirate was a moment from striking Adongo down, the chieftain leapt astonishingly high into the air and somersaulted backwards. As he did so, he kicked and one of the cutlasses went flying. His other foot connected with his rushing opponent. Haryd hit the ground hard, his chin taking the brunt of the impact.
It was a terrible landing and the audience groaned at the sound of bone breaking. Adongo was almost back in the same spot and, frustratingly for Haryd, standing still again, his eyes closed, arms loose at his sides. He was breathing evenly, as though smelling the fragrance of blossom on the air.
‘I’m not sure I just saw that,’ Locky exclaimed.
Quist stood with his mouth open in awe.
Is that the Moruk way, then? Tor said.
It is, came the measured reply.
Haryd was back on his feet. He rubbed at his swelling jaw; one arm hung broken and useless. He moved the remaining cutlass to his other hand with purpose, ignoring the pain. Murder was written on his face. He said something in pidgin. The other slaves watching looked horrified.
What did he say? Tor asked.
It is very bad to curse a Moruk’s mother, Adongo replied calmly.
Haryd was rushing forward again. Everyone held their breath.
This time Adongo fell low to the ground and with a deft movement swept Haryd’s feet from under him. As the sailor crashed again to the dust, the Moruk leapt onto him, smashing into the low part of his spine, then lightly jumped away.
Haryd screamed in agony. It was brutal punishment. Several of the Queen’s ladies looked away. Even Locky wished Adongo would hurry up and deal the killing blow, even though he dearly wanted that pleasure for himself.
But Adongo waited.
Haryd’s breathing was horribly ragged now. He pulled himself painfully to his knees and stared at his opponent, who had struck his by now familiar pose, eyes closed, arms loose.
This infuriated the sailor who, with one final bloodcurdling bellow, hurled his cutlass directly at his opponent, barely steps away. Despite the terrible pain he was in, Haryd’s throw was accurate and frighteningly fast.
Adongo caught the cutlass by the blade, eyes still closed. The reflex action brought rapturous applause. Anyone who had not witnessed this would never believe the tale. Not a drop of blood had been spilled by either party, though one of them was near dead.
The Moruk opened his eyes, tossed the cutlass to one side and leapt again. This time Haryd screamed for his life. Adongo landed neatly on the man’s chest, crushing his ribs with a cracking sound that echoed throughout the compound. One of the ladies fainted.
It was enough.
Adongo bowed low to where Queen Sylven sat impressed behind her veils and then bowed to his men before rejoining them to sit in the dust.
The guardsman listened to Haryd’s chest.
‘He lives,’ was all he said.
Lard nodded and spoke. ‘Her majesty calls upon Locklyn Gylbyt.’
Locky ran to the Queen’s carriage and fell to his knees. ‘Your majesty.’
‘Well, Locklyn, it seems you will have your revenge on this man. I, for one, am glad for you. What is your choice of punishment?’
‘Queen Sylven, I choose that he ride the Silver Maiden.’
She was surprised. ‘But you will have to wait for that to be arranged. Why not a swift death by your own hand now, child? He is almost finished.’
‘Your majesty, I will wait. A swift death is not enough for his sort. He needs to know fear and I have heard of this local custom.’
‘It is a terrible death. I am assured a man dies a thousand times just imagining it. Are you aware of the entire custom of Cipres—that the person choosing this method must first take his cha
nces with the Maiden himself?’
‘I am.’
‘Then you are the bravest of men. And I have no choice but to pronounce that your wish be decreed. Haryd of The Wasp will ride the Silver Maiden.’
17
A Royal Jest
Quist sipped his ale and eyed Tor, who was laughing with Locky while they chose from an exotic and unfamiliar array of food. The Queen had generously ordered that all the former prisoners be taken to the inn and fed properly at the city’s expense before being offered passage home. But Quist was not interested in food right now.
This stranger, Gynt, who had his wife’s energetic support, did not fear him as other men did. But then, why should Gynt fear him if he was not a pirate himself? No, if he was honest, it was not Gynt who bothered him so much as Eryn’s friendship with him. In his years with Eryn, this was the first time Quist had felt threatened by another man. Eryn was a gorgeous woman, but she was also a former whore and now a brothel madam. Men were her business, but none of them had generated jealousy in his heart.
And yet this one’s relationship with her hurt. A friend; that meant so much more than paid lover. Her message through Locky had been precise: Please help him find what he seeks to the best of your abilities, no matter the expense, no matter how much time it takes. Please also give him your full protection.
That was some request. Actually, it was more of an order. She had not left any room for translation; her meaning was plain. If he did not do as she asked, it would be considered an insult to her—and that would never do, for Janus Quist worshipped the very ground Eryn Quist trod upon. He found it hard to tell her this, but a laugh at one of his jests or a simple affectionate gesture could please him for weeks.
He remembered the incident Tor spoke of very well. Quist’s memory was sharp at the best of times but his recollection of the Kloek was very clear. He had even liked the man. He had taken the falcon knowing it would fetch a rare price. And it had.
How was he going to explain to Gynt that it simply would not be possible to retrieve this creature? The bird was gone and the proceeds now adorned Eryn’s elegant neck.
Quist was a forthright man, known for his honesty. He would tell Gynt how it was. Perhaps he could purchase a new falcon for the man. It would be expensive but Light, for Eryn’s happiness, he would hang any expense, especially as his recent voyage had been so profitable.
‘So,’ Tor said, finally coming to join Quist at the small table. ‘Let us speak plainly. You must recall the falcon. He is magnificent, I am sure no one could forget him.’
‘I recall him.’
‘I suppose it is too much to hope for that you may still have him?’
‘Yes.’
‘You do still have him?’ Tor was surprised. Could he be that fortunate?
‘No, I mean, yes, it is too much to hope. I’m sorry, Gynt.’
‘So you’ve sold him. Please, tell me everything.’
Quist saw pain cross the stranger’s face. His quest was real all right.
‘I will. But first tell me, why is this hawk so special?’
‘He’s a falcon, Quist. We have been together for many years now. He is very special and he was given into my care. I must not forsake him.’
‘I see.’ Quist did not see anything. ‘Can we not purchase a new falcon for you? I realise it will not make up for the years you had with the other one, but birds are easily trained; this new one would become a companion of equal stature.’
‘No, you don’t understand, Janus. He is more than that. I can’t explain it. Please, just tell me everything.’
Quist sighed. ‘We brought him ashore at Cipres one moon or so after leaving Caradoon. To be honest, I thought he might die on the voyage.’ He saw Tor wince. ‘He was very silent for a bird of that size. To my knowledge, he ate nothing at sea, but I think he liked being out on deck.’
‘He was tied, of course,’ Tor said.
The captain nodded. He could tell from Tor’s tone of voice this was not going to be an easy conversation. Just the mention of the bird not eating made him look angry.
‘We came ashore and, because he is what we call a “perishable”, he was sold within a day of our arrival.’
‘And to whom was he sold?’
‘Well, you see, Physic Gynt, that’s just it. I don’t know. The bird was sold at market. He fetched a right good price but I don’t go taking the names and lodgings of my buyers.’
‘You cannot tell me that a peregrine falcon like Cloot is sold every day at market to the ordinary passer-by.’
‘No. The man, who paid good coin, was a master falconer for sure.’
‘Well, where would someone like that take Cloot?’
Quist shrugged. He could have saved Gynt all of this trouble. He really had no idea where to start trying to track down a falcon.
‘Would you remember this man?’
‘No. I did not sell the bird; one of my men did.’ Now Quist saw grief flit across the physic’s features. He had promised Eryn he would help but he was failing badly. ‘Now look, Gynt, it’s true I have no idea where your bird is, but you’re right, there are not that many falconers around.’
‘Where is your man? Why can’t we start with him?’
‘Ah…’ was all Quist could say. He tugged at his eye-patch and then scratched at his beard.
Tor groaned. ‘Tell me the bad news, Quist.’
‘He died. He got involved in a boisterous game of dice, was accused of cheating and was murdered.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Though Basyl was a pirate, he never cheated at dice. They killed a good man.’
Tor nodded, as though resigned to his hopeless situation. ‘Then we no longer have a score to settle, Janus Quist. Thank you for trying to help.’
Quist was unsettled by this sudden end to their conversation. ‘No, wait, Gynt. I must offer recompense. It is more than my life is worth.’ He smiled, then added, ‘Eryn’, and shrugged again.
Tor put his right hand on Quist’s right shoulder, a Caradoon gesture for sealing friendship. ‘You are a good man and she cherishes you. No, you owe me no debt. If I ever need your help, Captain Quist, may I call upon it? It may be a long time coming, but it could also be tomorrow.’
Quist returned the gesture and they stood facing one another, arms crossed in front of them and resting on the other’s shoulders. ‘Count on me any time you are in need,’ he said and meant it. ‘Good luck in your search. Where will you start?’
Tor smiled wryly. ‘At the palace. I have an appointment to meet a powerful Queen.’
Tor was deeply concerned about Cloot. He had tried opening a link several times but it led nowhere; it was not dissimilar to the sensation he had felt when trying to reach Alyssa all those years ago. Alyssa had been blocked first by Merkhud and later by the archalyt. Tor wondered what could be blocking the falcon’s powers. Of course, there was one simple explanation. He could be dead.
Cloot dead? No, it was unthinkable. Tor could not entertain such a frightening turn of events.
At that moment he felt the cold slice of a link opening in his head. It did not have Cloot’s memorable signature. He recognised the magic of Adongo before the man even spoke.
So troubled you look, Adongo said quietly from his corner.
Tor turned towards him. You don’t seem so jolly either.
It is time for me to leave.
Yes, I thought it might be. I am pleased Queen Sylven pardoned you.
Adongo nodded. It was appropriate.
So where now? Tor asked.
I search. I must find the one to whom I am bonded.
Will we meet again?
I feel sure of it. In that place you called the Heartwood.
Until then. Stay safe.
Adongo effected a farewell gesture; Tor responded in kind across the inn. He felt suddenly very alone and wished the tall Moruk could remain with him. It occurred to him to say so but Adongo was already crossing towards the door. He had obviously said his goodbyes to his men. He
carried nothing in his hands. His brightly coloured robe was just a simple sheet of woven fabric wrapped expertly around his body, yet he looked like a king nevertheless. And then Adongo of the Moruks, Fifth of the Paladin, was gone.
Tor wondered if he would actually lay eyes on Queen Sylven at this meeting which she had requested the day after his release. It suited him to be summoned. Questions asked of various courtiers had led him to understand that the Queen admired birds of prey and kept a large team of handlers on her staff to look after her aviaries both here and at her winter palace in rural Cipres. It was a start. If Cloot had fetched such a high price, it was more than reasonable to suppose that he had been purchased for one of the royal aviaries.
Tor was led into a cavernous hall with exquisitely carved stone walls. It was very cool, almost cold in fact, due to the wintry chill which was beginning to descend upon Cipres. From this room high in one of the towers of the palace, he could look out over the beautiful city. Surprising himself after years of enjoying a hermit’s existence, Tor believed he could live here and be happy. If it were not for the terrifying notion of Orlac breaking free, or Goth possibly being alive and still a threat to Alyssa, he might have asked the Queen for permission to settle in Cipres.
He smiled to himself as he peered out across the city. He would have liked to show Alyssa this place.
Tor tried to imagine what she might be doing this very minute. He knew Queen Nyria would never allow any harm to come to her and hopefully she had been given lodgings at the palace in Tal. Plus she had Saxon and Sallementro to watch over her. He reassured himself she was safe. Perhaps she was building a new life now? She would push the memories of his grisly death deep inside and she would triumph over that grief; he was sure of it. One day some other man would be incredibly fortunate to call her his wife. Tor grimaced…but she was his wife. Nevertheless, as far as she believed, her husband was dead and she was free to marry another. Could she ever love someone as much as she had loved him? Tor knew he could not love another woman so deeply. Still, that had not stopped him making passionate love to Eryn, had it? He should not begrudge Alyssa new love if she was fortunate enough to find it.
Revenge Page 20