Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Something like that. His uncle waited. When Orlac offered no further resistance but plonked himself heavily into a chair, he continued. It’s perfect, boy! Think about this. You had in mind razing Tallinor to the ground, when in fact you can be far more subtle and disable the Tallinese King by stealing the object of his desires. I do so enjoy sophisticated intrigue. To humble a proud man by so insightful a move as taking what he most wants is so much more brilliant than just beating him on the field, so to speak.

  What makes you think he’ll care a hoot?

  Oh, I think he will. I think our King of Tallinor has set his heart on making Lauryn his Queen. I believe he will give chase and we can lead him and his soldiers a merry dance. We can belittle him and humiliate him and if it still pleases, we let you go about systematically destroying the Kingdom behind his back.

  He paused, giving Orlac time to think about this.

  You mean literally steal her?

  Well, I don’t believe she’ll leave willingly.

  I want her.

  More than Tallinor?

  It was a clever shift. Orlac felt trapped. No, he could not say he wanted her more than the demise of Tallinor, but if he was honest, Tallinor’s destruction did not intrigue him as much as this woman.

  No. Tallinor can wait. My desires cannot.

  Then she shall be yours, nephew. We can take her back to Cipres and you can make her the slave to your every desire, if you so choose.

  What of Xantia?

  What of Xantia! She is a pawn…nothing more. But she is cruel too; she will enjoy the intrigue as much as you.

  Orlac’s thoughts refocused. There’s something about Lauryn, the god mused. Irrespective of how much I desire her, there is another factor I can’t pinpoint.

  I think I can, his uncle said, the slyness back in his voice.

  Tell me.

  The deep chuckle made him feel anger and the Colours within him pulsed.

  Steady, boy. I will tell you what I suspect. He laughed again and Orlac hated him. I’m guessing now because I have no proof other than what I can see through your eyes. You have never seen Alyssa Qyn but let me assure you that the Lady Lauryn you wish for yourself is the spitting image of Gynt’s Alyssa.

  You lie!

  I have nothing to gain by lying to you on this. It was when you kissed her hand, and looked deep into her eyes. He sensed Orlac was about to fly into a rage. Wait! Now listen to me. Lauryn mentioned Flat Meadows. Even you picked that up. I suspect that she could be the daughter of Torkyn Gynt and Alyssa Qyn. I can’t confirm it but I know he has children and that they have returned to Tallinor. Lauryn resembles Alyssa too much not to be related.

  My niece! Orlac roared.

  Hush…let’s not wake the palace. I too need convincing. Call for a messenger now. Where is that servant of ours?

  Orlac walked to the door and pulled it open. Outside, a man, clearly from the Exotic Isles, wearing the colourful costume of the nomadic tribes, bowed low. ‘How may I serve, Regent Sylc?’

  ‘Ah, Titus, fetch a palace page immediately.’

  ‘At once, sir,’ Adongo said, bowing low again.

  Orlac closed the door and waited.

  Where did you find him? Dorgryl asked, thinking of the dark man outside.

  He was amongst the palace servants. Juno picked him for me; said he was discreet and obedient. Perfect for this trip.

  He looks at us strangely—as though he knows something.

  You imagine things, Dorgryl.

  There was a soft knock and Orlac admitted a young page, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to bow, despite his fatigue.

  ‘Sir, my name is Ypek, I am a messenger. How can I help you?’

  ‘I wish you to take a message to the Lady Lauryn’s rooms.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Shall I wait outside whilst you write it?’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

  Orlac moved to a very beautiful carved desk and picked up a quill. He dipped it into the inkpot and appeared to scrawl something on a parchment. Then he looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘The Lady Lauryn…what is her family name? I wish to address her correctly.’

  The lad was caught unexpectedly and found himself halfway through a yawn when the Ciprean made this query. He quickly composed himself. ‘Her family name is Gynt, sir.’

  ‘Ah good, as I thought,’ Orlac said, amazed at how angry he suddenly felt.

  And rising on the crest of that anger was a red mist which overtook Orlac without warning. Suddenly it was Dorgryl’s voice which spoke.

  ‘Come here, boy.’

  Ypek obediently walked over to the Regent and felt the cold, hard blade puncture his throat. He died without even the chance to cry out his surprise.

  Dorgryl disappeared and Orlac was left panting and breathless from the sensation but also from his own rage.

  Wrap him in the rug before his blood stains the room, Dorgryl commanded.

  In a silent fury, Orlac bent and rolled the corpse as instructed. Then he stood and breathed deeply before speaking. If you ever do that again, Dorgryl, I will end my life. I will not give you this warning again. You will be forced to live within a mortal’s body for eternity —I’m sure that would only marginally improve on life in the Bleak. Hear my words, and heed them.

  Now Dorgryl sounded sulky. Well, you wouldn’t have done it, and the messenger would have become a liability.

  What does it matter? I don’t care how many come after us. They can die at one push of my mind. Don’t interfere again.

  Orlac opened the door. Once again Adongo bowed as his orders were given. ‘I want three horses saddled. We leave immediately.’

  Adongo showed nothing on his face. ‘Your belongings, sir…the rest of our staff—should I stir them?’

  ‘No, I wish to leave immediately. Our stuff can be brought with the rest of our people who can leave tomorrow. I will meet you in the bailey.’

  ‘May I ask about the need for a third horse?’

  ‘No, you may not—go about your business.’

  ‘At once, sir.’

  Lauryn heard the tap at her door. She felt relieved. At last. Gyl had come and they could straighten out their gripes. She knew once he kissed her she would forgive everything and surely he could not hold a grudge when he discovered it was only his love she sought. She pulled on a silken robe, smiling that her night attire was rather sheer, which Gyl would find more than just amusing. Lauryn opened the door a crack and was shocked to see Sylc standing by it.

  ‘Regent! It is late…you cannot visit me now.’

  ‘I must talk with you. Please.’

  Orlac was still burning with the anger of Dorgryl’s recent killing of the lad and the discovery of who this woman was—it made little difference to his need, of course, he still wanted her…and he was suddenly in no mood to be resisted.

  ‘No sir, I cannot permit you to enter my room at this hour. What would people think?’

  She looked deliciously tousled from her bed but clearly she had not slept…perhaps had even been hoping for a late-night visitor and with regret Orlac realised it was not he she had hoped might come calling. He melted through the door and appeared behind her. She noticed him disappear from her limited gaze through the crack in the door and opened it further to see where he could have got to.

  ‘Lauryn,’ he called.

  She swung around in shock, slamming the door closed in her movement. ‘How…how in the Light did you do that?’ Her face was pale and scared now.

  ‘Things are not always as they seem,’ he said, sagely. ‘I have come for you.’

  ‘Come for me? What are you talking about? How did you get into my room?’

  ‘Magic,’ he said, and used a spike of it now, directed towards her.

  She collapsed and he caught her before she hit the floor unconscious. He smiled as he threw her over his shoulder, recalling his conversation with Dorgryl, who was mercifully silent th
roughout these proceedings. And then he flung open her wardrobe and grabbed a few items, including a stout pair of boots, which he tossed into a cloth bag and also shouldered.

  He pushed with his Colours and Lauryn, still slung, a dead weight, became invisible. Orlac left her room and made his way from the southern tower towards the bailey. He encountered only two guards during this journey as the palace slept, and claimed to their expected enquiry that he was peckish. The guards said he’d always find something simmering in the pot in Cook’s kitchen. He thanked them and moved swiftly on, trying not to give the appearance of being burdened.

  Outside, Adongo waited with three horses.

  ‘Take this bag and tie it onto one,’ Orlac said, slinging Lauryn’s bag towards his man.

  Adongo deftly caught it. He could feel the thrum of magic but could not work out what was going on. He could also feel Lauryn’s presence close. Was she in trouble? He did not want to leave her but he had no idea what his master had in mind tonight, and the nagging feeling that Lauryn was somehow with him would not leave. He spent the next few moments trying to absorb his sense of her being nearby. How could this be? She was sleeping in her chambers. But he could not linger. Adongo made the decision that for the purposes of his disguise he must go along with his master’s wishes for now. If he found they were travelling too far from Lauryn this night, he would contrive a way to make his escape and get back to her.

  She did not know him yet—had not even made eye contact, but he was now bonded to her and would not leave her side if he could help it.

  With Juno’s help he had manipulated himself into the service of Orlac. It was unnerving to be in his presence again but Juno had warned him of this and he had taken care not to show anything in his face. She, fortunately, had come back in a youthful form and thus unrecognisable to Orlac, but Adongo had returned with the same appearance and so with Juno’s assistance they had set about changing it.

  His long hair had been shaved. Now his darkish skin was oiled, his head shiny. And he had grown a moustache and beard, both kept trimmed short, but the transformation was so dramatic that even he could not recognise himself. It was no Moruk chieftain staring back at him from the glass. Juno had giggled, warning that they could not use magic around Orlac; he would sense it in an instant. This would do. He would never recognise the Fifth of the Paladin.

  And Orlac had not. Nor had Dorgryl, who was infinitely more suspicious. Adongo had passed the test and been accepted as Titus, who was now climbing onto the back of his horse. He had not seen Orlac throw an invisible burden across the back of the third horse, but he did think it strange that his master insisted on attaching the reins of the spare horse to his own, rather than his servant’s.

  At the guardhouse, Orlac turned on the charm. ‘Can’t sleep. I’ve got my man with me…thought we’d go into Tal and see what action is afoot.’ He winked.

  ‘Is that why you need the third horse?’ the guard said, smiling.

  ‘Well, you never know your luck,’ Orlac played along, flashing a grin. ‘Actually, I thought if I picked up some gifts for the ladies of the court of Cipres at your famous night markets, I might need help carrying them back to the palace.’

  ‘It won’t be enough. Women always want more, sir,’ the guard replied, shaking his head. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘We will,’ Orlac said over his shoulder as he cast one last glance towards the palace. ‘Sleep tight, King Gyl,’ he offered silently. ‘I shall enjoy taunting you before I erase your Kingdom from this world.’

  It was later—at dawn—several hours’ ride from the capital and deep into the countryside of Tallinor’s northwest, that Orlac cast aside the invisibility glamour and revealed the body of Lauryn slumped across the third horse.

  Adongo’s sound of despair escaped him before he could prevent it.

  Orlac seemed unperturbed, gracefully dismounting and then coming around his horse to lock stares with the man from the Exotic Isles.

  ‘I’m afraid I shall have to kill you, Titus, now that you know my secret.’

  Adongo knelt. He had to react swiftly now and somehow keep Lauryn safe. Finally he understood the strange sensation that she was near he had carried with him all these hours.

  ‘My lord, you are the one!’ he cried.

  ‘What?’ asked Orlac, faintly amused.

  ‘I saw you in a dream. I watched you descend from the heavens and alight in this world. I was told I was to be your servant…that I must follow you.’

  Orlac felt himself chill at the man’s words. ‘Who told you this?’

  Adongo had to be very careful now. ‘I did not see who spoke. But I saw you. That’s why I came to Cipres to find you, my lord. I had no choice. We Moruks are spiritual people and my destiny was shaped. I had to find you and be your servant. I have been waiting for a sign of your powers. And now you have revealed them, I am in awe of you. You do not have to kill me. I am already enslaved to you and will do your bidding obediently.’

  I told you he watched us knowingly. He could be useful, Dorgryl whispered.

  I thought you didn’t appreciate witnesses.

  Well, when she wakes up, there’s going to be a lot of commotion, I can assure you. He can help. Let him win her trust and then through him we can make her cooperate…as far as Cipres anyway. He can even promise to help her escape but all the while have our ear.

  You never fail to surprise me, Dorgryl.

  I have my uses, the elder god said.

  ‘Stand,’ Orlac commanded.

  Adongo felt the relief loosen his tensed body. Orlac had accepted him. He arranged his expression to one of awe and supplication. Now he must protect Lauryn as best he could. It would not be easy for her. It did not take much to conclude that she now faced an emotional and probably physical challenge which she must survive. He must guide her through both challenges and help her heal both types of scar until the true One came for her.

  As he humbly stood to meet the violet gaze of the god, he took a risk and cast out strongly towards the Heartwood…where Torkyn Gynt would hear his plea for help. He prayed the Heartwood, with its special magics, might somehow cloak his message.

  Dorgryl shimmered. What was that!

  I sensed it but could not make out the content, Orlac admitted. He addressed his manservant. You are sentient?

  I am, oh great one. I cast out my thanks to the gods who watch over me and brought me to you. He knew it meant certain death if Orlac did not accept his story.

  ‘Never do that again or I will kill you.’

  Adongo bowed, covering his smile. No, we will kill you, Orlac, he thought. ‘Humblest of apologies, my lord.’

  They heard Lauryn groan loudly as she sat up, terrified. Her terror snapped to anger as her memory brought back what had happened.

  ‘You’ll not get away with this, Sylc.’

  Orlac laughed. ‘I already have.’

  ‘The King will follow…and he will kill you.’

  ‘Well…he may try.’

  She dropped from her horse to her feet, feeling the tempting surge of Colours but pushing them back. Her father had once advised her not to strike out with her powers until she knew exactly what she was dealing with. She took his advice now. She would bide her time and for now would allow her anger to do the talking.

  ‘Whatever it is that you want, I’ll not give it. Not ever. You might as well kill me now.’

  King Gyl had just received the grave news that the Lady Lauryn was not answering her door because she was no longer in her room. Nor was Regent Sylc…but they had found the body of the messenger, Ypek, his throat slashed, his corpse rolled in a carpet on the floor of Sylc’s room.

  ‘Search the grounds! And bring me the guard who allowed Regent Sylc to depart the palace during the night.’

  Gyl felt his own throat close. The first official day of his reign was destined to be a bad one.

  And so it was.

  15

  Goth’s Blade

  Goth was feeling ins
pired. Being back on Tallinese soil with a dozen or more armed men behind him gave a sense of the old days when he had led raids into villages and struck the fear of torture and reprisals into the sentient ones. It was different now, of course, but he felt the old thrill of the chase and it rejuvenated him as no drug could.

  He could almost smell Sarel and her bitch maid. With Garth’s information it had not taken long to establish that a ship called The Raven had left the Ciprean harbour under cloak of night on the same evening the royal and her servant had fled the palace. He presumed that as they were on foot they carried very little in the way of belongings. He also assumed they were well-pursed for their journey.

  Goth dug back into his mind and it did not let him down. He recalled that Quist had married a whore; made her a brothel owner. She was young —originally from Hatten—and had turned the tavern and its brothel into the most successful operation of its kind in the northern region of the Kingdom. Quist was regarded by the Caradoons—and it seemed the Cipreans were of the same opinion—as an honourable pirate, if there could be such a thing. It was Quist’s much admired brother-by-marriage who had risked the Kiss of the Silver Maiden. How the wheels turn, Goth thought. As he brought more and more of the Quist story together in his mind and paths began to cross, Torkyn Gynt came sharply into focus for him. Gynt and Quist knew each other, or certainly of each other. He knew this because it was Gynt who had saved Locklyn Gylbyt from certain death when The Wasp sank.

  What was the connection here? What was he missing?

  Quist had offered the runaway Queen safe passage into Tallinor…why? Money might encourage a less well-heeled captain to risk the dangers of pulling out into the famously turbulent and unpredictable waters off the Ciprean mainland at night. He accepted this…money talked. But Goth’s mind was always one to look beyond the neat answer; the obvious, the most sensible option. Quist was already wealthy. He need not involve himself in such a risky adventure.

  What if Quist had not helped Sarel for money? What could his other motives be?

  As one of the soldiers handed him the reins of his new horse and they prepared to ride from the harbour into Caradoon proper, he began to ask himself what might encourage a wealthy man to take such unnecessary risk. There was but a single scenario that his clever mind would permit, but it was such a foreign notion that he dismissed it at first. Could loyalty really be the reason? Was a pirate loyal to anything or anyone but himself and his potential booty? And to whom was Quist loyal…Sarel? Surely not. The maid? Highly unlikely. Which left only Queen Sylven. Why would Quist feel an obligation to protect Sylven’s child? He was not even Ciprean.