by Ian Whates
There was silence, then… “What do you want from me?”
“I must live long enough for my son to grow up. By the time I die, he will rule the Myriad Isles.”
“I want to see Gyf. If your men have hurt him –”
“You will heal him. Come.”
As soon as they left the chamber I whispered, “But I’m not chained up in his dungeon.”
“It is enough that she believes you are.” The unfortunate sister lit the candle again. “Now we must rescue your lady as well as my boy.”
We hurried along the secret passage until we came to narrow stairs, built for long-legged Wyrds. Down and down we went, between walls of sheer rock.
“We must be below sea level by now.”
“Yes. Pity my poor boy, he’s never seen the sun.”
“He will, I promise.”
She cast me a swift look. “He said you would have to make a decision and that we could only hope you would make the right one.”
“What kind of decision?”
“He couldn’t say. His visions are only glimpses. There’s been no one to teach him how to use his gift.”
“Same as my lady. Learning on the job, you might say.”
She nodded and kept going. “Not far now.”
A moment later she came to another secret panel. “We’ll free your lady first.”
We were about to step into a stone corridor, when the jingle of armour told us kingsmen strode past. Once it was safe, we left the secret passage and at the very next bend we heard the King gloating over my lady.
“Stay here.” I darted around the corner.
A guard stood in the doorway, with his back to me. Covering the distance in two strides, I caught him in a choke-hold.
His muffled struggles were enough to alert the King who turned, reaching for his sword. My lady was quicker. She touched his neck and I felt the overflow of her power as the King collapsed slowly, fighting every step of the way until he lay on the floor, glaring up at us.
I put the unconscious guard aside.
The unfortunate sister came up behind me. “What’s going –” Her nose wrinkled with distaste. “The Lady’s gift is strong this close.”
Strange. She should have been used to T’En power. “Why –” I broke off as voices echoed up the corridor, along with the jingle of approaching kingsmen. “I’ll go.”
“No, I’ll go,” the unfortunate sister said. “They’re used to seeing me down here.”
Even as she slipped out my lady told me, “Watch the King.”
“Wait…”
But she didn’t listen. A moment later I heard the unfortunate sister chatting to the kingsmen. Her tone was casual and I had to admire her. She didn’t know my lady was waiting around the corner to help her. I should be with my lady, not here with the King.
He watched me, black eyes calculating. “She’s using you.”
I drew my knife. “Yell and I’ll slit your throat.”
“Lady Shen is using you, just like the boy uses his mother. She’s addicted to his gift, you know. Would do anything for him.”
“She’s his mother.” And not a bit like my mother, who’d sold me for a quart of ale.
“Lady Shen –”
“Rescued me.”
“Of course she did. Look at you. Big as a Wyrd and devoted to her. But all you are is a means to an end. All Wyrds are eventually corrupted by their own power. That’s why my ancestor revolted. We True-men must stick together. She trusts you. You can get close enough to –”
“Don’t listen to him.” The unfortunate sister returned. “His words are poison.”
“I’m no fool.”
The King caught my arm. “You’re a fool if you trust –”
“Stand back, Gyf,” my lady said. “I must finish what I began.”
The King eyes filled with furious terror.
My lady crouched over him. “If you were really smart, you would have realised that if I can reach inside a body to heal, I can also reach inside to cripple.”
“Why not kill him?” the unfortunate sister asked. “He would not hesitate to kill you.”
“Death is not justice,” my lady said then touched the King’s temple.
Power built as she overcame the King’s resistance. I had to steady the unfortunate sister.
“There.” My lady stood, wiping her hands on her thighs. “Today I have delivered justice for all the half-blood sons and daughters that the King and his forefathers locked up. I’ve locked him inside his own body.”
Vonanjiro glared up at her, all impotent fury. I laughed.
“Get the guard’s keys,” my lady told the unfortunate sister. “Set the other half-bloods free.”
“Too late,” she said, voice tight with grief. “Two of my older brothers were killed while trying to escape and the last one killed himself.”
“I’m sorry.” My lady frowned. “Then who did the King lock behind a stone wall?”
“My boy. He’s a full-blood throwback like you.”
“Another throwback…” My lady’s face lit with hope and she looked to me. An answering joy filled my heart.
“We must go.” The unfortunate sister retrieved the keys then ushered us out, locking the door on the paralysed King without a second glance.
She retraced our path, past the entrance to the secret passage then up three steps, where she signalled us to wait. Before I could ask why, she stepped around the corner.
“It is you, Kurdon,” she said. “He told me you would be on duty the day it happened.”
“What happened?”
“This. Lord Giant?”
As I stepped around the corner, the man’s eyes widened.
“You’ve been kind to me and my boy, Kurdon. He told me you would have to make a choice. A Wyrd philosopher once said, we are the sum of our life choices. The King could have honoured his bargain with Lady Shen but he reneged on it and paid for his treachery.”
“The King is dead?” The guard sounded hopeful.
“He won’t be ordering anyone’s execution,” my lady said, joining us.
The guard stiffened with fear.
I didn’t blame him. Even without touch, I could feel her gift surging like the incoming tide, rising higher each time she forced it down.
My lady reached out to Kurdon. He jerked back, hit his head and passed out. The unfortunate sister opened the door so I could drag him inside.
At first glance the sumptuous chamber appeared empty. Was the unfortunate sister mad after all? More likely the poor boy was afraid of me, most people were.
I turned my hands palm up. “We mean no harm, lad. We’re here to free you.”
The unfortunate sister stared into the darkest corner. “Ardonyx, it’s time.”
Still he did not come out. I strode towards that corner. “We must…”
The words dried in my mouth as I sensed danger hiding in the darkness. Trapped and desperate, the power was rank like a caged predator.
“Gyf.” My lady’s voice came from a great distance. “Put the knife away.”
I looked down to see the blade in my hand. Did not remember drawing it. Did not want to sheathe it. “There’s dangerous power, here. Evil.”
“Not evil. Different. His gift doesn’t feel like mine.” My lady took my free hand. “See through my senses.”
She found his power rich and enticing but, even as she welcomed the sensation, my instincts screamed a warning.
“Gyfron, please,” she whispered. “Put the knife away.”
The unfortunate sister stepped in front of me. “Ardonyx, your grandfather is paralysed. His new wife will claim the throne for her son, or his nephew will take it. Either way, we’ll be executed. We must go. Drop the illusion.”
The intensity of the threat dissipated and, just like that, I could see him standing in the dark corner. This was no sweet little boy. He was almost as tall as me and, from his smooth chin, had more growing to do. It wouldn’t be long before this throwback
outmatched me physically.
No wonder the True-men of old had feared Wyrds.
As the throwback’s wary wine-dark eyes studied me, I was reminded of the legends of dangerous, deceiving T’En. What if he was as power-hungry and conniving as his grandfather, King Vonanjiro? Was I about to unleash the Wyrd of nightmare on True-men?
The King had been right. The unfortunate sister was addicted to her son’s gift and blinded by love. His power was already strong enough to entice my lady. Power corrupted. He would steal her love and I would be alone again.
I had to protect my lady from herself.
Tension gathered in the Wyrd’s shoulders but I could take him. Then I felt his gift rise again. If I wanted to come out of this alive, I had to kill him from a distance.
“Lord Giant won’t hurt you, Ardonyx,” the unfortunate sister said. “Get your things, we must leave now.”
“No.” His gaze flicked to her. “I had another vision. They will recognise you as we try to escape.”
She laughed. “Do you think I care? As long as you’re free, nothing matters!”
“Don’t say that.” He dashed across the chamber and dropped to his knees, hugging her around the waist. “Please don’t make me do this, Ma.”
And just like that, I no longer saw him as a threat. He was the boy, his mother loved. Maybe one day, he would be the kind of man my lady could love, but right now, he was a half-grown lad who needed our help.
Shame filled me.
Although the boy’s gift still grated on my senses, I refused to be blinded by prejudices. I sheathed my knife. “Your mother’s right, lad. We should go.”
“I’ll fetch the cloaks and travelling packs,” the unfortunate sister said.
We made it to the secret panel then out of the palace without mishap. In the confusion of a city preparing for war no one looked twice at our hooded party. The streets were packed with mustering kingsmen and hurrying crowds. Many people carried belongings as they headed for the wharves, others had come to stay with relatives and were welcomed into homes where the owners were busy boarding up the ground floors.
On the port wall, we spotted a ship taking on passengers. We were almost at the gangplank when half a dozen kingsmen came towards us.
“Keep your heads down,” the unfortunate sister warned.
But one of the kingsmen pointed. “It’s the Tronanova.” He lunged to grab her arm.
I shouldered her aside, pulled his own sword from his waist and shoved him back into his companions. “Go.”
The unfortunate sister urged her son towards the gangplank.
“Gyf…” my lady whispered, grief stricken.
“Go. I’ll hold them while you board.”
“Sweet Gyfron…” She kissed my ruined cheek.
And I felt the searing power of her gift. My heart raced. Everything slowed. There was plenty of time to turn and catch the first attacker’s blade, sending him off the port wall into the sea. Two more fell off the other side, onto the crowd below.
A roaring filled my head as more kingsmen arrived, carrying torches. As soon as the ship’s gang plank was drawn up, I edged around so that a pile of bales protected my back.
The ship’s sails unfurled.
Two more kingsmen fell under my blows. I could feel the rush of my lady’s gift drain away. There were too many attackers. I wasn’t getting out of this alive but at least my lady was free and she was no longer alone.
My borrowed blade shattered deflecting a strike. Another blow tore the hilt from my bloody fingers and sliced my thigh. I went down on one knee.
So this was how it ended.
The kingsmen held their torches high. As they jostled for the honour of the killing blow, I turned my maimed face towards them and waited. The True-men stared horrified.
One pointed. “He has the rose-rash.”
“Plague! Plague Bringer!”
I had the plague? Impossible.
But they backed off. Word spread and people fled.
I slumped against the bales, with my hand pressed to my thigh. Blood oozed between my fingers as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
At least I could see my lady’s ship negotiating the harbour.
Word of the plague spread along the port wall. People ran back into the city, carrying the contagion with them.
My lady had promised I wouldn’t get the plague. How could…
The scales fell from my eyes.
King Vonanjiro had been right. My lady had come here to dispense justice. Long ago, these islanders had turned on her people, stolen their home and murdered those left behind. To avenge that dark day, she had used me to carry the plague, activating the contagion with a kiss.
My heart broke as I sank to the planks.
I wanted to die.
But I did not bleed out and, as the night passed, I saw fires spring up across the city. There was fighting on the palace wall. Men fell screaming to their death. The Prince’s mother and the nephew were battling for the throne.
I did not care. My lady had betrayed me.
Towards dawn the fighting subsided, although several fires still burned. I shivered, wracked with fever, as I waited for the plague to kill me.
“Gyf?”
“My lady?” I must be delirious.
She came up the sea steps of the port wall, with a storm-lantern and the lad, Ardonyx.
As her cool hand cupped my cheek, a wave of power settled my fever and sealed my thigh.
“It is you.” Tears burned my eyes. “You came back.”
“Of course.”
“I thought…” Shame filled me. “They thought I had the plague.”
“That was my doing.” Her thumb brushed my cheek where she’d kissed me. “I branded your skin. They took it for sign of the rose plague.”
I blinked, confused.
She laughed softly. “My kiss made them think you had the plague. It was all I could do to protect you.” She came to her feet. “And now we’ve come back for you. Help him up, Ardonyx.”
The lad offered his hand and I took it. King Vonanjiro had been right, power could corrupt. But we had a choice.
An Oath Given
John Gwynne
Maquin was first to see the rider approaching.
It was close to the end of his watch, night’s chill gnawing deep in his bones as he viewed the sun clawing its way over the bulk of Forn Forest. He was standing upon a timber walkway that ringed Aenor’s Hold, last settlement before the wild of Forn. As he turned his eyes away from the forest he saw a glint on the north road, sunlight catching on iron. The blade of a spear.
He raised a horn to his lips and blew, one short blast. Feet drummed on the walkway, warriors gathering above the closed gates. They were always shut – you never knew what could wander out of Forn, but it was usually predatory, and hungry.
The rider swayed in his saddle as he drew close, a warrior clothed for battle, his shield rent, helm dented. The gates remained closed and he reined his mount in. From this distance Maquin could see the white streaks of salt stains in the horse’s dun coat.
“Name yourself,” Maquin called down.
“I am Ulfilas of Tancred’s Hold. We were attacked.”He sucked in a breath, grimaced. “Attacked by the Hunen.” The warrior swayed in his saddle, then slipped to the floor like a sack of grain.
Maquin shifted in his saddle, sweating beneath his woollen tunic and coat of mail. His war helm was strapped upon his head, narrowing his vision, making each breath sound like distant thunder. A heavy spear rested in the crook of his arm, its butt sat in a leather cup stitched onto his saddle. He had ridden hard for half a day with three-score warriors, his lord Aenor at their head. It was not often that Aenor rode out these days, brooding younger brother of the King, but the warrior at the gate had come from Tancred’s Hold. And Tancred was wed to Rosamund, Aenor’s sister.
They passed through rolling hills and meadows. To the east Maquin could see the fringes of Forn, clusters of re
d fern and twisted hawthorn standing like a vanguard before the wall of thick-trunked oak and ash that loomed tall and solid, stretching into the distance as far as his eye could see. Maquin rode immediately behind Aenor. He was well thought of by his lord, had proven himself, standing as Aenor’s shield during an ambush by brigands where others had broken and run.
Loyalty is of more value than gold, Aenor had said to him afterwards, and Maquin’s da had beamed with pride.
My da. He felt a fist close around his heart just at the memory of the man, dead half a year, now. Slain by a pack of wolven come ranging out of Forn in the heart of winter. Maquin’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, the iron pommel worn smooth – his da’s sword.
“You all right, lad?” a voice said to his right. Radulf, Aenor’s first-sword. Radulf always called Maquin lad, even though Maquin had seen more than thirty summers go by.
“Aye,” Maquin grunted. In truth he was tense, felt that mixture of excitement and fear that preceded imminent violence. He was no stranger to combat, their first years at Aenor’s Hold spent clearing the land of bands of lawless men, and there was always something to hunt and fight within the fringes of Forn – packs of wolven, bears, even a rogue bull draig last spring, but the warrior that had ridden to their gates had said Hunen.
Giants. Remnant of one of the giant clans, ancient enemy of mankind in these Banished Lands, the Hunen were said to be the most vicious. Legend spoke of their fortress deep within Forn, protected by both glamour and snare, and men told tales around campfires of the rare times the Hunen would stray from their forest stronghold. Those tales said they always left blood in their wake. Maquin had seen a giant’s war hammer hanging in the fortress of Mikil, and his da told of a giant raid that his grand-da had witnessed, but other than that for all Maquin could prove the giants were a tale told to keep bairns in their cots at night.
“Have you ever seen one of the Hunen?” he asked Radulf.
“No, lad, though I’ve met some that have.” He regarded Maquin with his steady gaze. “The Hunen are no faery tale.”