Then he heard himself screaming, ‘Poison!’ He saw Tor throw down his glass and turn to the Queen. No one paid any attention to the impostor servant, who crept stealthily from the scene and then began to run.
Tor kneeled alongside Sylven, calling to her, trying to hold her attention. She was in agony, moaning and shrieking.
Sarel began to scream and suddenly people were running from all directions towards their Queen. Saxon arrived first.
Tor looked up, his brilliant blue eyes wild now. Saxon shook his head slowly. He was in shock; his mind in absolute turmoil. ‘It can’t be you.’
Sylven’s body began to jerk and flail in its death throes. She screamed one last time before her eyes rolled back into her head and her lips turned purple. Tor ripped away the Queen’s veils but it was too late. Sylven’s body arched in one last horrific convulsion and a painful guttural groan came from her throat; her face flushed with the blood that was carrying death around her body. She bared her teeth through foaming spittle to form one final angry sound at the world and then she fell back, lifeless. The poison had done its work.
Tor also fell back, into Saxon’s arms. He was breathing hard; he had tried to use his powers to save her but to no avail.
Hela kneeled beside him, almost rigid with shock. She grabbed the child, Sarel, and held her close.
Tor shook his head. ‘I…went inside. She was dead before I could do anything.’
Saxon held him firmly but could not believe it was Tor in his arms, warm and alive. The Torkyn Gynt he knew was dead, like the Queen now lying in front of them.
‘I was too late, Saxon. Too late!’
The Queen’s staff keened with despair, uselessly clutching at one another. It was impossible for them to believe that their Queen was dead.
Tor recovered first. ‘Saxon, the servant—she’s getting away!’
The Kloek was still in a state of shock and wonder. He had watched this man die by the executioner’s stones. He had seen his body taken down from the cross and his broken face washed clear of the blood. The corpse had been wrapped in muslin and then Merkhud had driven away with it on an old cart to only he knew where. He was dead.
Torkyn Gynt’s bright blue, very alive eyes communicated the need for urgency. Saxon pulled his scrambled thoughts together.
‘That’s no woman, Tor. Let’s go—he’ll head for the woods,’ Saxon replied and then he was running; running alongside his old friend after the impostor who had tried to kill a man already dead, but instead had assassinated a sovereign.
23
A Desperate Escape
Goth’s speed carried him into the cover of the forest before his pursuers had even begun to give chase. As he ran he went over events again and again in his mind. How could Sylven have got the poisoned goblet? He had been so careful to hand Gynt the doctored wine. It did not make sense.
He could hear yelling now behind him. He knew it would be Gynt but the idiot did not know to whom he gave chase. The robe was slowing him down and Goth realised he needed to dispense with it. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, instantly realising that he had forgotten to remove the arraq in its pocket.
He sneaked a look behind and felt his hatred instantly boil up. Pursuing him grimly was Gynt and his old sidekick, that once blinded but now all-seeing bastard Kloek. So that’s what had happened! The Kloek must have swapped the goblets to protect Gynt. Yes…he understood now. His anger helped him to find new speed and he pulled away from the pair.
‘Who is it?’ Tor called breathlessly to Saxon, who was slightly behind.
It was Cloot who answered from up ahead. It’s Goth.
Tor stopped in his tracks and Saxon caught up. ‘What are you stopping for?’
‘Cloot’s just told me who we’re chasing.’
Saxon looked immediately into the sky. Cloot had been found? He felt a fierce wave of joy pass through him. Tor and Cloot had been returned to him. The Paladin would not fail again; the Heartwood would prevail and the Trinity would be found.
‘I’ve not seen the man’s face,’ Saxon said, returning to the conversation. ‘Do we know him?’
‘Goth,’ Tor snarled and opened himself up to the Colours. This time he would kill him.
They picked up their pace again. In the distance, they saw the small figure halfway up a hill; Goth miraculously scaled its height with ease and speed. Tor remembered that night at Caremboche, when Goth had almost caught him and Alyssa; he recalled how fast the Inquisitor had run then, fuelled by his anger and his determination to stop their escape.
They had lost sight of him now. Breathing hard, they climbed higher and higher into the hills, with Cloot flying overhead and telling Tor which direction to take.
He’s trapped! Cloot suddenly said.
Tor stopped; Saxon followed suit. What do you mean? Tor asked.
He’s reached a waterfall. There’s no way out for him, Tor. If he retraces his steps, he’ll meet you. He heard the falcon chuckle. He’s all yours.
Tor began to lope ahead again. ‘Come on, Sax. We’ve got him trapped apparently.’
They climbed further; they could hear the rushing of water now as it hurtled over the edge of a precipice and crashed below. The air was damp with the mist from the waterfall.
Tor stepped through a narrow pass between two tall hills and came out on a high crag. There he finally recognised Goth; the man was standing at the edge, looking down.
‘Goth!’ he screamed, and the face he hated turned and sneered at him.
The former Chief Inquisitor certainly looked different; the once solid frame was slim now and gaunt. But he could not disguise his eyes and Tor was angry he had not made the connection when he first stared into those small, mean eyes at the picnic. He put it all quickly together in his mind as he watched the man’s sneer overwhelmed by the prominent twitching of one side of his horribly scarred face.
The poison had been meant for him but it had mistakenly found Sylven. Oh, Sylven, what have I done to you? Tor’s Colours burned inside, they wanted him to unleash them. But he had Goth cornered now. He could take his time.
Saxon rounded the crag and stopped, sucking in gulps of air. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, triumphant at finally having this man at their mercy.
Tor’s own chest was heaving, more from hatred for Goth than exertion. ‘I’m going to finish it here. He’s killed enough people in his useless life.’
‘Then do it, Tor. Finish it now.’
‘He can’t hurt us, Saxon. There is nothing he can do,’ Tor said, walking forwards slowly. ‘Do not fear him.’
Goth hurled a stream of abuse at him as he approached. Tor had to admire his courage.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Saxon called from the crag. He had no desire to look Goth in the eyes again. This was the man who had once taken his sight and beaten him savagely, leaving him for dead. He despised the man and could never forgive him for what he had done to Alyssa either. Saxon did not care if Goth suffered now—all he wanted was to see his life extinguished once and for all.
Goth fixed Tor with a look of scorn. He had never feared death. Now that it stared at him, he did not exactly welcome it but neither did he turn away, terrified. His clever mind wrapped itself around several options, none of them feasible. He was trapped. He could even see the falcon up there, circling, waiting for his death. He refused to give them the satisfaction of dancing around his corpse with glee. He could deny them that much at least.
Tor prepared to unleash the Colours and finally kill his enemy, but he faltered as a vision of Jhon Gynt suddenly entered his mind. He recalled how his father had abhorred all violence and had raised his son to show compassion to others.
‘Killing is not my place,’ Tor said, hesitantly.
‘Then I’ll do it,’ Saxon said, pushing past him. ‘And I’ll enjoy it. I’ll crush the last breath from him with my bare hands.’
Goth laughed and the girlish sound incensed Saxon. The man was remorseless. Even when facing obvious de
ath, he did not plea for mercy. He simply laughed at them.
Then, to the disbelief of them both, Goth leaped off the crag into the roaring torrent of water. ‘Give my love to Alyssa!’ he called and was gone. They could hear him howling, as if with joy, as he descended.
‘No!’ Tor yelled but it was too late; the man had disappeared from sight.
He and Saxon ran to the edge and looked over. It was high and Saxon felt momentarily dizzy. The height did not bother Tor. He stared intently at the churning waters below. How deep was it? Could Goth survive this? It was a mighty drop.
They watched and waited for any sign of his body to float up. Tor’s keen eyes looked further down the rushing river, roving across the scenery below for any movement, any sign at all that Goth lived. There was nothing.
‘What do you think’ Saxon asked, finally.
‘I think I should not have hesitated,’ Tor replied angrily, turning away.
‘You think he could survive that? He’s dead, Tor. By your hand or not, it no longer matters.’
Tor did not share Saxon’s optimism. He cast to the falcon. Cloot, can you fly over and see if there’s any sign.
The falcon silently obeyed.
‘Goth seems to survive all adversity which comes his way,’ Tor said to Saxon. ‘I should have dealt with him the minute we arrived. He stood there and laughed at us and still I hesitated.’
It was true. Saxon could offer no consolation. Instead he spat on the ground in his unique Kloek way. ‘I haven’t formally welcomed you back from the dead yet, Tor.’
Tor felt awkward. ‘It’s…er…it’s good to be back, Saxon.’ He felt the familiar bearlike hug of the Kloek and returned the affection.
Cloot swooped down and landed on the crag. ‘Hello, old friend,’ Saxon said. ‘I’ve travelled a long way to see you again.’
The falcon flew to sit on Saxon’s shoulder, which brought the Kloek enormous satisfaction, whilst he gave Tor the bad news. Nothing down the river that I can see. But there’s pandemonium still at the picnic site, Tor. I think you should make plans to get away from here as quickly as possible. Accusations will soon begin to find their way to you.
Tor nodded. ‘How long has it been?’ he said to Saxon.
‘Since I left Tallinor, you mean? I set off the day after Queen Nyria died.’ Then he looked mortified. ‘Oh, Tor, I’m sorry. Had you heard this news?’
‘And far worse,’ Tor said, his face grim. ‘Do you know about Alyssa?’
Saxon had never imagined he would ever have to consider Tor and Alyssa in the same sentence again. ‘Know about her? Yes, she is safe; running her school at the palace and keeping up her duties to the sovereign, though I left her grieving for Nyria. Why? Is something wrong?’
Tor smiled ruefully. ‘Well, she’s certainly kept up her duty to the King in your absence.’
Saxon shook his head. ‘What am I missing here, Tor? What’s happened to Alyssa? And how could you know of it before I do?’
Tor sighed. ‘Whilst you were travelling here, Alyssa became Queen of Tallinor. Sylven told me this morning after receiving formal notification between the realms.’
Saxon looked dumbstruck. It was obvious Alyssa’s Paladin had not known of a relationship between Lorys and Alyssa, Tor decided.
The Kloek shook his head. ‘There must be some mistake. Alyssa and Lorys? No. She’s been working with him, and the last time we spoke she mentioned that she had finally begun to look forward rather then dwelling on the past. Your death…’ He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Your death was a terrible shock for all of us, Tor. Alyssa was lost for many years; she only began to come out of that grief and anger when Gyl came along.’
‘Gyl?’
Saxon shook his head. ‘So much to tell you. Gyl is an orphan whom the Queen took under her wing some years back. She put him in the care of Alyssa. It was as good for Alyssa as it was for the child—as you can imagine…since losing her own son,’ he said, haltingly.
Tor said nothing; his face betrayed no emotion.
Saxon continued, keen to fill the awkward pause. ‘Nyria asked her to form a school. Alyssa excelled with her teaching of the children and in her work for the Queen. And then, after a year or so, the King’s private secretary died and Nyria thought it would be a good idea if she gave him Alyssa.’ His last few words sounded ill chosen even to his ear.
‘And she accepted?’ Tor couldn’t believe it.
‘She fought it, Tor. Fought it hard. I have not been around the palace as much these last few years, but I know she was terribly unhappy about this new turn of events. She has done so well though. You would be proud of how she has really made something of her life at the palace. And everyone loves her.’
‘Including Lorys, obviously,’ Tor said with disgust.
‘I know nothing of this. As I said, the last time we spoke was when I returned from Caradoon to tell her about Goth and how I had seen Cloot again. All she said was that she was trying hard to bury the hatred and move on. You were dead. It took so much of her energy to continue to hate Lorys. What was the point?’
‘No point at all,’ Tor agreed, standing. ‘I just can’t imagine how she made the leap from “I must try not to hate him” to “I want to marry you, Lorys.”’
Tor walked back to the edge of the rock and looked again into the raging waters, ostensibly to see if Goth’s body had surfaced, but in reality to turn away from the pain of his last sentence.
Saxon joined him. He put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Tor. You can’t begin to imagine how much she suffered at your expense.’
It was true and Tor knew it.
‘How long afterwards was it?’ he heard Saxon ask.
He knew what Saxon meant but chose not to understand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘After the execution. How long was it before you returned?’
Tor felt again the full weight of despair and guilt he had suffered for so many years since that day he had reopened his eyes in the Heartwood.
‘Almost immediately, Sax. Come, we must move fast—we must get back to the Heartwood. And I have a long story to tell you as we travel.’
24
A Disturbance in the Land
Alyssa thanked Tilly absentmindedly for the steaming cup of raspberry leaf tea. It was unlike her to be vague. Tilly took note that her mistress had barely touched her breakfast tray this morning and that the daily ritual of bathing and then brushing her hair for exactly one hundred strokes was not peppered with its usual lighthearted banter. And what was she doing up this early? Light! It meant they all had a long day ahead when the Queen rose at this hour.
It was true. Alyssa did feel distant this morning. It was not just that Lorys was away from her—on official business in Hatten—for the first time since declaring his love, or that life seemed suddenly incomplete without his blustering, irresistible company. No, it was not that at all. Today was definitely different, she mused, putting her cup down.
She had awoken with a start. Morning had barely announced itself and only a few bright slashes across the charcoal sky told her another late wintry day was emerging. Now, staring out of the window to the lush, heather-laden hills, she realised she was thinking of Tor. At one time he had been constantly in her thoughts; now she had to concentrate to put all the features of his face together accurately in her mind.
He had been so irritatingly handsome, had he not? She smiled. His dark, almost black, hair had been thick and straight and he had a habit of running his fingers through it when he was thinking. She recalled his strong jaw and the impossibly blue eyes in that lovely face, which had once made her heart pound simply by casting a glance her way. She never wanted to lose the memory of his face. And yet she had, to some degree. It had been four, no, five cycles since she had last seen it—smashed by the stones and gushing his precious blood. She had been forced to watch him die; had seen his chest heave in one last courageous effort to remain of this Land, and then he was gone. S
he would never forget his bloodied face.
His voice was gone for ever too, and that was almost the hardest part. She had loved his voice most of all; it was what she had fallen in love with first when he teased her as a young child across the link. A smile of regret played around her mouth and she inwardly chided herself for indulging thoughts of him.
Alyssa’s life had been filled with misery and toil since early childhood. The only brightness in it was Tor. When she lost him the first time, she had found solace at the Academie in Caremboche. Alyssa denied that she had found complete peace there, because Tor had always been in her thoughts, but she had been able to escape through her work in the Academie archives and Saxon, Sorrel and even Xantia had provided companionship in those early years.
When Tor returned to her life it had been a gift from the gods, she was certain of it. And their short married life in the Heartwood had been blissful; truly the happiest period of her life. But it was so brief. Just long enough for her womb to quicken and her son to grow inside her; the same son who took his final breath so soon after his birth.
And then the misery and destruction began again. Goth came back to taunt her; followed by the crippling pain of witnessing Tor’s execution and then the terrible loneliness of her life at the palace. If it had not been for the friendship of Saxon and Sallementro in those first two years, she was sure she would have ended her pathetic life.
But Tor was dead, long dead, and it did her no good to dwell on her first love. She was married to King Lorys now and Queen of Tallinor. She had a duty to Lorys and a future running this Kingdom alongside him, and, in truth, she had found love again. Alyssa would never have dreamed it possible, but she did love Lorys and he surely worshipped her. It had been a wonderful few months since they had finally been able to proclaim their love throughout the Kingdom and beyond. Alyssa considered Lorys as her salvation. She knew it was a strange notion after despising him for so long, but it truly was Lorys who had made her believe that her life was important to Tallinor and that there was a future for her here. She did not want anything to rupture this perfect life now that she had finally achieved it. She wanted to reign beside Lorys and be in his arms until their gods claimed them. It was true that she had known perfect love with Tor, and she would never try to compare her love for Lorys with that, yet in this marriage she knew complete peace for the first time in her life.
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