Tor was dead. Lorys was alive and loved her totally. She could not help returning that love and she told herself that she must learn to forgive the guilt she felt at odd times, like now, when Tor claimed her mind so powerfully and so unexpectedly.
It was only then she remembered what had awoken her with such a fright. The Land had spoken to her.
Alyssa pulled her rose-coloured silk wrap around herself more tightly and settled into an armchair to think. It was the sudden shift in the Land’s power which had called her from her peaceful sleep. And that was why Tor had slipped into her mind. Clearly no one else had felt the shift or her young and excitable maid, Tilly, would have been near hysterical. No, Alyssa thought, this was connected with the Trinity somehow. The Writings of Nanak and the story of Orlac crept back into her thoughts. She had hoped she could put them aside when she started her new life with Lorys. How stupid of her! Orlac was coming back and this was a warning.
She felt suddenly cold and curled her fingers around the comforting warmth of her cup. She sipped the bittersweet tea but did not taste it; her mind was elsewhere. What could have caused the shift in the Land’s balance, she wondered. Had the last of the Paladin fallen? Saxon was not here to ask. Her protector had been gone now for almost three moons.
Taking another sip of the cooling raspberry leaf brew, Alyssa accepted that the shift had to be connected with the gods. She put her cup down and touched her thumbs together to ward against bad luck, trying to dismiss the notion that the Tenth might have fallen. Surely she would have felt a tragedy as great as that deep in her soul? Perhaps something had entered the Land and disrupted its balance? Surely not Orlac. Not yet! She stood and paced in an attempt to empty her head of the terrible vision of Orlac’s escape, but still she spent another hour in distracted thought before finally forcing herself to dress. She did not feel any wiser for all the mind effort.
She chose a simple buttery yellow gown of fine wool, cinched modestly at the waist with her favourite chain belt. Although she preferred her hair plaited neatly, Alyssa did not want Tilly fussing around again, so she pulled her hair back with a clasp of polished antler. Her ablutions complete, she considered how to occupy herself at this early hour in a way that would stem any opportunity to think further about Torkyn Gynt, Orlac or anything connected with the Trinity.
She just wanted to be a happily married wife; a fitting Queen for her King. She did not want to think on the prophecy of Orlac’s return. She took a deep breath and forced her mind to consider her options for the day.
She could tour the castle, possibly watch cook prepare the bread, and then head up into the battlements to pass a few pleasantries with the guards. She knew this was where her popularity lay: the proletariat of Tallinor, particularly in and around Tal, was besotted with their Queen Alyssa.
Directly after their marriage, Lorys had made the wise decision to journey to the major towns once again, this time with Alyssa by his side. He knew it was the only way his subjects would accept a new Queen so soon after the death of their beloved Queen Nyria. It had worked. Alyssa’s beauty and gentle, modest manner had captivated her subjects; she charmed everyone from the villagers to their children. And her obvious intelligence and wit made her equally at home amongst the aristocracy.
Alyssa fidgeted uncharacteristically, struggling to make a decision, when there was a soft knock at her door.
‘Come,’ she replied and moved to look out of the large window in response to the clattering of troops arriving in the main yard.
Her personal aide, Rolynd, made his apologies for disturbing her at this early hour. ‘Your majesty, the troops have returned,’ he said, bowing low.
‘His highness?’ asked Alyssa, her cheeks flushing as she whipped around from the window. She had missed Lorys dreadfully these two Eighthdays. No need for a stroll along the battlements on this chilly morning if he had returned. He would be her distraction. She could leave her crowded mind to itself and be entertained by his stories, his wonderful laugh and his limitless affection. His presence was all she needed to dispel this mood and increasing sense of anxiety.
‘I’m sorry, your majesty, but apparently King Lorys will not be returning immediately. I am informed that he is paying a visit to Lord Tolly, who is gravely ill. The King’s Guard has remained in Parkeston to escort his highness home afterwards…’ The sentence trailed off as he saw the Queen’s face display its disappointment.
‘Thank you, Rolynd.’ She turned away.
‘Er…your majesty, the Under Prime wishes to speak with you. He is waiting in the vestibule.’
‘Oh! Send him in immediately.’ Alyssa brightened at the news that Gyl was back in residence. He too had been away far too long.
Rolynd bowed again and left, quietly closing the double doors into the Queen’s suite.
Alyssa seated herself in her favourite chair overlooking the pretty walled garden which the King had commissioned for her and awaited the arrival of her other favourite man. She could hear his rhythmic footsteps as he drew closer to her suite and she smiled, imagining the arrogant swagger and confident manner which caused most of the court’s younger ladies to tremble with desire. Since his new appointment, Gyl seemed to have grown remarkably in stature, confidence and, above all, eligibility.
Alyssa had no intention of marrying Gyl off to any of these swooning ladies. She would know the right girl when she presented herself…and so would he. Gyl was a dreadful flirt and played with his admirers’ emotions without hesitation. Alyssa gratefully noted, however, that he gave no special attention to any of them, which reassured her that he too was not considering early marriage. Light! The lad was just sixteen summers; he had a whole lifetime ahead to find the right woman to lose his heart to.
Alyssa conveniently pushed away the fact that she had fallen in love with Torkyn Gynt at the age of nine summers and was just fourteen summers when she threw him her posy at Minstead Green. If he had got around to asking for her hand that day, she would have said yes and happily married him by sunset. But that question was never asked. Merkhud had taken Tor’s attention from her and then lured him to Tal, setting them all on a path to destruction.
Gyl was almost at her door. She could hear his voice now, joking with the guards Lorys insisted she maintain at the entrance to her chambers. Aside from the King, only Alyssa knew Gyl’s true story. When Lorys had revealed his secret that he was the boy’s father, Alyssa had immediately wanted Gyl to be told too, but she soon came to accept Lorys’s conviction that they should keep it to themselves. At the time, there had been a great deal happening in Gyl’s life and they had agreed it would be too much to tell him of his real background. But Alyssa knew they must not wait too long; keeping such knowledge from him could perhaps cause even more damage in the long run.
The doors opened and as Alyssa opened her arms to hug her son, all thoughts of the powerful disturbance which had woken her went out of her mind.
It was as Tor, Saxon and Cloot were journeying back towards Cipres that they sensed the shift in the Land’s balance.
‘Did you feel that?’ Saxon said.
Tor’s mind immediately fled to Orlac.
Cloot, has the Tenth fallen? Tor sounded alarmed; he was not ready for this news yet.
The calming voice of Cloot eased into his mind. I don’t believe so, Tor. It doesn’t feel bad, just like some sort of disturbance, wouldn’t you agree?
He did agree, now that he dwelled on it. And then, as though sunlight had suddenly beamed through the cloudy skies, Tor’s heart soared. He fell to his knees and opened his arms to the heavens. ‘My children,’ he said. ‘They have returned to Tallinor.’
In the Heartwood, the trees, animals and its special magical creatures rejoiced.
‘They are close,’ Solyana said.
Arabella wept, overwhelmed by the knowledge that the Land’s most precious charges were returning to where they truly belonged.
Sallementro, tuning his lute in his favourite stone hut in the hills b
ehind the Tal palace, felt the shift.
Adongo of the Moruks stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes to listen to the Land.
Figgis the Rock Dweller, Ninth of the Paladin, on a ship just docking at Caradoon, also felt the shift. He resolved to travel south as fast as possible.
All knew the Trinity was gathering, finding its rightful place, drawing its protectors back to their destiny.
Alyssa’s true son, the one she quietly grieved for, felt the wind knocked out of him as he rolled onto the ground in Tallinor. Gidyon looked around in stunned disbelief and took a few moments to steady himself and his breathing. Sorrel had said they would arrive together but he had known before opening his eyes that he was alone. So their journey through the portals had not gone to plan.
He took another good look around. He was in a field, which he shared with a few startled cows who moved away briskly, disturbed by the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst.
He closed his eyes, shook his head and opened them again. The cows were still ambling away. He was definitely no longer in Sorrel’s cottage but sitting winded in a field somewhere. All she had told them was true then.
Everything felt strange. It was not a bad feeling but it was odd. His weak eyes were suddenly providing him with perfect vision: he could see every detail of the lined bark of that tree at the far edge of the field, further than he would ever have thought possible. And the sounds of the birds chattering seemed somehow sharper. What was happening? And was this where Sorrel had spoken of bringing them?
Gidyon stood and took a deep, steadying breath. He had followed the shimmering green of Yargo as best he could, but though he remembered taking Lauryn’s hand in the cottage, they had somehow become separated.
Where was she?
At that moment, a new sensation hit him. He felt cold slicing through his mind, like a blade. Then he heard her voice in his head. It was tentative. Gidyon?
He could not believe it. Lauryn, is that you?
Clever, eh? she said, more boldly now.
Very. How are you doing it?
Magic, she said and he enjoyed hearing her laugh. We’re empowered, like our parents—or were you not paying attention?
This is all a little too much for me, he admitted.
She sighed. I know. Are your sight and hearing different?
Definitely; they’re much sharper. I’m in a field somewhere. Where are you?
With Sorrel. She seems to think we’re at a place called Harymon. And I’m told we’re now going to make our way to another intriguing spot known as the Heartwood.
I see. Good idea. And what about me? He paused theatrically between each sentence for emphasis.
Lauryn had been determined not to like Gidyon but his gently ironic manner was charming. And knowing he was her brother, family…it was just too precious and she could not help but feel a strong bond of affection towards him already.
Well, this was all your idea, Gidyon, remember? Sorrel tells me that you must make your way to the Heartwood as well.
Has she offered any suggestion how? Do I leap on the back of one of these vaguely suspicious, but not so friendly, cows and ride there?
Lauryn enjoyed his jest. Just get there somehow, as fast as you can. Wait…He felt the link remain open but there was silence.
Lauryn?
I’m here. Listen, Gidyon, I’m to tell you this is serious. She wants you to be very careful. Stay away from anything which smells of trouble. Don’t draw attention to yourself. She has sewn some money into your left pocket. It’s not much; you may have to earn your way with odd jobs. But you have to hurry.
Ah. Well, do thank Sorrel for that superb help, he said, sarcastically. Can she give me a landmark at least?
There was a pause again and then Lauryn replied, Head towards the city of Tal but get into the Great Forest as soon as you can. There’s a village called Axon at the point of one of the forest’s fingers apparently—I’m not sure exactly what she means by that. And you’re going to love this. No laughing. A wolf, a donkey or a priestess will be waiting there for you. Trust them and follow.
He did laugh. You will visit again, won’t you? he said. I just can’t wait for the next instalment.
You can do this too, you know, Lauryn replied.
How? he demanded.
Well, I just reached myself out towards wherever you might be.
Oh, totally simple then. Textbook magic.
I can’t really explain it any better than that! Sorrel calls it the link and although she cannot link with us, we obviously can with each other. You must practise.
I will, as I earn my keep shovelling dung, tilling the soil and whatever else a person of my lowly status does in this place.
How do you know that?
What? How to till the soil?
No. I mean how do you know we are of lowly status?
Lauryn, perhaps you haven’t noticed but she’s dressed us as peasants, not courtiers or scholars.
Sorrel says you’re right. And one more thing—apparently our memory of home will fade. She assures me it will help us to become more like the Tallinese.
I’ll forget all I’ve learned for the Blues? Gidyon was horrified.
As I understand it, she replied and he felt the link close.
Gidyon put his hands on his hips and looked around him again. A donkey indeed! This was a dream, surely? He was going to wake up soon and laugh about this. He had ridden north to see a dying grandmother—now he was here. He was going to wake from this because he had something important to do back at that place he came from…but for the life of him he could not, just at present, bring to mind what that important task was.
He shook his head. No use lurking here, he decided, and Lauryn had given him his instructions. He would be pleased to be with her again. She was his sister; what a lovely notion after years of it being just him. And he liked her. So, in order to reach Lauryn, this Heartwood place was where he had to go.
He made for the edge of the field and stepped over the low wall there, into a laneway. He had no idea which direction to head in. He dug into his pocket, breaking through Sorrel’s stitches, and found a coin. On one side he noticed there was a dragon; on the other, what looked like a ghoul. He flipped the coin into the air and trapped it between his right palm and the back of his left hand.
‘Right,’ he said to the uninterested cows. ‘Demons or dragons?’
When none of his new friends even turned to look at him, let alone answer, he chose dragons. Lifting his right hand, he saw that it was indeed a dragon.
‘Then left it is,’ he said brightly, not understanding one bit how he had reached such a conclusion. Gidyon began to whistle as he strolled down the lane towards his destiny.
Sorrel looked at the girl, her expression one of enquiry. Gidyon was meant to be with them. She felt very anxious that he had been separated. She had spent fifteen years in a different world waiting to bring her charges home and it had gone wrong already. If anything happened to him…
Lauryn, on the other hand, sounded jolly. ‘He seems all right. He’s on his way.’
Sorrel nodded. She must not give away that she was worried. ‘Good. Then we must be on our way too. Help me with this bag, my girl. We have a long walk ahead of us.’
The similarity of this journey to the one she made with Alyssa so many years ago was not lost on Sorrel. And the likeness Alyssa’s daughter shared with her mother was uncanny, despite all the spare flesh she carried on her frame. Lauryn would be as beautiful as her mother one day.
Lauryn slung the light cloth bag across her back and took the old girl’s arm. She had not wanted to come—it had all seemed like a dark jest back in the cottage. But now that the magic had proved true and she was here, she felt excited.
She had parents here. Lauryn hardly understood any of what Sorrel had told her, but she was keen to suspend disbelief and even give up all of what had been her life before, if it meant she could meet her parents and belong. If this was her b
irthplace, then this was where she wanted to be. There was a lightness to her step that morning which she had never felt before.
‘I have some money,’ the old girl said. ‘Not much, mind, but it will help us along. We can live frugally, though you may have to work.’
Lauryn nodded. Work? What could she do? Scribe, perhaps? She decided not to let it trouble her. There was more than enough strangeness in her life right now to bother about the least remarkable bits. She would let Sorrel make that decision.
‘There should be an inn at the next village, if my memory serves me right or the thing has not burned down in the past few years.’
‘And we’ll stop there?’
‘Just for tonight. We’ll get ourselves together and set off properly tomorrow. I’m anxious about Gidyon. We should not have been separated like this,’ Sorrel said, shaking her head, breaking her promise already.
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do, Sorrel. He had no idea where he was, so we just have to trust he will get to where you need him to be.’
‘Practical, like your mother,’ Sorrel replied.
‘And will she be there…at this Heartwood you speak of?’
‘My child, I honestly don’t know. Your father has called us back; that is all I know for sure. I am answering his summoning.’
25
Duntaryn’s Secret
Figgis admitted to himself that it was his own fault; he should have sensed the danger but he had been too enamoured by the feeling of freedom. It was grand to be back in Tallinor after so long, so many centuries of oppression, pain, frustration.
His normally lightning-fast reactions had failed him. So many thought Rock Dwellers were slow and witless; perhaps because of the gnarled, overhanging brow and the thick lips and wide mouth which were typical of his race. This assumption was entirely wrong, however. Rock Dwellers were slow at very little except running. They were not fleet of foot, although they possessed great stamina in their short legs, which could carry them over long distances and up an almost sheer rock face.
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