Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Goth could not make the connection and although his mind swerved close, it never would hit on the real reason—which was that Quist was loyal to his wife, Eryn. And that dedication had begun a series of complex, seemingly unrelated events which had eventually led to Hela’s explaining everything to the pirate, because she trusted Gynt—and so did Quist, because Eryn did. That was enough to oblige the pirate to help this young woman who pursued Torkyn Gynt and safety.

  It mattered little to the former chief inquisitor that he could not find a satisfying answer. For Goth it was simply entertainment…something to puzzle at to while away the days of the sea crossing. In truth, all he wanted now was Quist’s head rolling in the dirt, and perhaps a clue as to where Sarel might be and who her protectors were in Tallinor. He would not let his new master down; perish the thought of what might occur if he did.

  Goth had deliberately plied his companions with liquor, ensuring they were certainly intoxicated, if not drunk, by the time of their arrival at the Caradoon docks. His aim was to ensure their inhibitions would be relaxed; that they might be rougher, less tolerant of reason. He had also craftily steered the conversation during the last hours of the voyage towards scarlet women. The combination of liquor and visions of brothels had achieved the right level of belligerence and aggression together with sexual need. At his encouragement, and with the promise of a hefty pay increase to each soldier, his men fell upon Madame Eryna’s tavern, rousing a predominantly sleeping brothel in the very early hours before dawn. It must have been a quiet night’s business, for only a few men had stayed the night and their token resistance was quickly beaten back. Eryna’s paid bodyguards put up a much better fight, killing three Cipreans and wounding four, but her protectors, seriously outnumbered, soon felt the end of a blade.

  Goth allowed the men to have their way. He had told them these were wicked women of Caradoon; outcasts of Tallinese society and of no consequence. The shrieks of the girls pleased Goth no end. He went in search of Sarel, Hela or Quist. He found none of the trio he sought but he did find Quist’s woman.

  ‘She’s mine,’ he warned, licking his rubbery lips, giving the impression of lustful intentions, which was so far from the truth he found it amusing.

  All he wanted from this woman was information. He had her gagged, bound and thrown into a storecupboard whilst the Ciprean soldiers did whatever they chose to do with the whores. Much later, in the diffused light of near-dawn, the same men gathered outside the brothel. They were chagrined; many a little disgusted by their own behaviour as the effects of liquor wore off their clouded minds. Nevertheless, Goth, always eloquent, managed to fire up their sense of duty once again and through the haze of their shame, their headaches and fatigue, he reminded them of what they had come here to do and why. His effeminate voice carried through the bracing morning air, explaining that it was every man’s duty to rescue his Queen from the Tallinese and prevent her from being thrown into the clutches of the murderous Torkyn Gynt.

  He ordered the girls out, and a now-motley group of formerly lovely young women were ushered to stand in front of him, holding their arms around themselves against the chill. The bruises and cuts they had sustained trying to fight off the men were now starkly visible in the lightening day; their nightgowns ripped and tattered. Some of the women wept, others swore at Goth. Many of the soldiers studied their boots, probably thinking of their own women back in Cipres…even of their own daughters; perhaps eventually justifying their behaviour with the self-serving notion that the violated women were whores anyway and so it mattered little.

  ‘Bring out Madame Eryna,’ Goth said, loving the sound of his voice issuing orders again.

  They waited as one of the men disappeared into the brothel, the silence broken only by a few coughs, a groan or two from girls hurting. It was still too early for many of the Caradoons to be up and about but a couple of passers-by stopped, shocked by what they saw. The silence lengthened, interrupted momentarily by the sudden intense shriek of a small flock of wrens which had been disturbed.

  The noise was ominous in the quiet which was then shattered by the voice of Madame Eryna cursing her captor in such a vicious manner it brought a genuine shadow of a smile to Goth’s wretched face. He was going to enjoy this one—there was nothing quite like feistiness to heighten his enjoyment of a woman’s pain.

  The girls began to wail as they saw their madam, largely untouched, thrown to the ground before Goth’s feet.

  Eryn scrambled to her bare feet, ripping her soft nightgown as she did so but not caring. She spat the dust from her mouth, ensuring what issued landed neatly on Goth’s boots. No one missed that proud message and somehow everyone gathered there, including herself, understood she would pay heavily for such defiance. She held her head high, eyes blazing as she stared into the warped and ugly face before her.

  Goth did not want this woman to steal his show and well understood the seductive power that courage could generate, so he decided to take the lead and allow no further time for his men to find some grudging respect for the prostitute’s pride.

  ‘Where is your husband, whore?’

  Incredibly, and so unexpectedly, she smiled. Eryn wiped the back of her hand across her face to remove more of the dust. ‘I remember you. They call you the Leper don’t they?’ she said, ensuring her voice carried.

  Goth kept his calm. ‘People call me many things.’

  ‘How about the cockless butcher? Have you heard that one? I certainly heard you were no longer a man where it counted. I’m amazed you’d set foot in a brothel. There’s nothing for you here, Leper —my girls like whole men…real men.’

  He felt his anger rise but did not allow it to show on his face, though he could have cursed the tic near his eye which seemed to have intensified.

  She laughed now when she saw his affliction. ‘Ah, wait…I remember another one. Twitching Fu—’ Eryn did not finish.

  Goth’s blow was so fast, so hard, she heard ringing in her ears, and her eyes were suddenly stinging from fresh tears she could hardly feel running down her cheek. She knew instantly serious damage had been done, having felt the sharp pain of fragile bones breaking.

  ‘Stand!’ her tormentor shrieked.

  Eryn could hear the soft weeping of her girls and she hated these people being able to do this to her. She stood, with a little more difficulty this time, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing him how much her face suddenly throbbed.

  ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered through her pain.

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ Goth responded sweetly this time. ‘You might as well tell me and make it easier on yourself and all these once-pretty girls here.’

  Eryn looked around; the rays of sunrise, now sharp, highlighted a grim scene. For the first time since being brought outside she noticed the state of ruin her girls were in. Some of them were so battered it would be weeks before they could look after a client again. She tried not to think that far ahead. Concentrate on now, on survival, she told herself. She did remember this man. His name was Goth, which had formerly been a name to strike fear into the sentients of Tallinor, but that was history. She felt sure he had died in the King’s prison; but obviously not—for here he was asking her about Janus. Eryn realised now as she gazed around that she was surrounded by Cipreans—the distinctive billowing shirts of the guards; their neatly trimmed beards and moustaches; those swarthy complexions. These were men from the Exotic Isles. So they had come for their Queen. Chasing her down to kill her?

  Janus had arrived a day or two earlier and stunned her by bringing home more than his usual booty from the voyage. Two gorgeous women— one young enough to make Locky’s heart beat at least three times as fast as it should. Naturally Eryn had taken the women in, but Hela had assured them that she and the Queen would not be safe until they could get to the Great Forest. Eryn had heard the full story of their flight from Cipres from the lips of Sarel’s maid and could hardly believe the
tale. She liked Hela; recognised a lot of herself in the plucky woman who had sworn to keep the young Queen safe.

  Eryn had questioned the older woman as to why they needed to go to the Forest—there was nothing there. Surely they were safer here?

  Hela had seemed surprisingly sure when she said: ‘Because Torkyn Gynt will protect us.’

  At the mention of her lover’s name, Eryn’s breath had caught in her throat. More careful questions revealed Tor was familiar with both Ciprean women yet not intimate with either. She permitted herself to feel a sense of relief at learning this, though she hated the envy she felt for the olive-skinned exotic beauties who sat across from her. She jealously wondered, just fleetingly, how Tor could resist them…her information was that he had bedded virtually every beauty in Tallinor. And then Hela began to relate an extraordinary tale of the former queen’s death and Tor’s supposed involvement. Hela assured Eryn it was not true and that, in fact, the Queen had been in love with Tor, had hoped to make a special life with him as her consort. Eryn bit back again at the resentment she felt that Tor was loved and desired by so many, including herself. The tale grew more preposterous as Hela spoke of a dreamspeaker; a woman who had told her to flee with Sarel; to find their way to Tor who would protect them from certain death at the hands of a usurper called Orlac. A dozen objections fell from Eryn’s mouth at once and yet Hela was resolute. They would go to Tor.

  ‘But how will you find him? We have no idea where he is now,’ she had responded, frustrated by the determined set of Hela’s face.

  ‘I know where to go,’ Locky had piped up. ‘I was with Tor and Saxon the last time they headed to the Forest, remember?’

  She did remember.

  Quist had taken her hand and squeezed it. ‘Let the boy take them,’ he had said in the unruffled, unfailingly gentle way he had with her.

  ‘Alone?’

  Quist had nodded.

  ‘No, I will not permit it, Janus. Locky is a boy.’

  She had seen her brother bristle visibly at this and she regretted her choice of words, but she had been worried. This was madness. A Queen from foreign lands on the run in Tallinor, apparently being pursued by some enchanted person who made buildings fall down and people bleed. Ridiculous! More importantly, Locky was swooning over the young Queen and the journey was fraught with dangers because of this.

  ‘You believe all this magical stuff?’ she had asked her husband, a tone of exasperation creeping into her voice.

  ‘I keep an open mind, my love,’ he had said gently. ‘I have seen many strange things in my lifetime and I have learned not to disregard something because it sounds unreasonable or unfathomable.’

  Janus had sensed Eryn’s famous temper smouldering. He had kissed her hand, which he held in his big, scarred pirate’s hands. ‘We must help these people, my love. This child’s mother was murdered. She was a queen. And now this young woman is the ruling monarch of Cipres. It is our duty to help her whilst others usurp her throne.’

  She had known her husband was right. He was usually right about everything. And she had finally nodded.

  ‘Of course we will, but Locky cannot go alone. You must go with him.’ And she had eyed him, a dangerous glitter coming into that look Janus Quist knew well. She would not be contradicted nor beaten on this. She had made her compromise to his wishes. Now he must meet her halfway.

  ‘If you can manage a little longer on your own, my dear, then I will gladly escort Queen Sarel and the lady, Hela, to Gynt.’

  And so it had happened that the four had left the following daybreak on horseback, Goth and his men hot on their heels, behind by just a day.

  Goth’s sharp voice brought her out of her recollections.

  ‘I don’t wish to have to injure my hands by beating it out of you.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Eryn countered. ‘Just get one of your cowardly soldiers to do it for you. I see Cipreans take pleasure in beating women.’

  The soldiers did not like this and responded with angry mutters and indignant expressions. Serve them right, she thought. She would offer no information. Beating or not, she would not give up Janus or Locky. These men might look threatening, but it was not as though they would kill her for her silence, surely. If they roughed her up, so be it. She would be strong. She had been strong all her life and she would draw on that strength now if they wanted to hurt her.

  The man in black, the Leper, sighed a little theatrically. ‘So you will not make this easy for yourself?’

  She said nothing, just raised her chin a bit higher. ‘Go fuck yourself, Goth,’ she cursed, using the sneer she had seen many a sailor use during brawls outside Madame Vylet’s in the old days.

  He smiled crookedly, but it was more of a smirk. ‘Strip and bind her!’ he commanded, turning his back on Eryn.

  Soldiers, albeit unhappily, leapt to his command and did as instructed, and as they did so, Goth addressed his audience. The sun had risen now and more curious Caradoons had gathered. The Quist family was popular. What could possibly be happening here? Some of the brothel girls —the younger ones—had begun to weep noisily. The elder ones tried to hug and console them but they too were feeling the first real chill of fear for the mistress they knew as Eryna. So far things had only been rough—most of them were sore and used, but that would heal. They feared for their madam. She was a good woman, a generous one, and, they realised now, a brave one. Somehow they sensed that the moment of ‘rough’ had passed. This man would see to it that the situation spiralled into ugly—dangerous, even. Quist had returned a day or so ago and lovely Locky was back to tease them. A couple of new girls had accompanied them; beautiful, but quiet and wary. They did not speak much to the others and had left almost as quickly as they had arrived. No one had thought much more about them.

  What did these men, clearly Ciprean, want with Eryna’s husband? Perhaps his pirating had become greedy? Unlikely. They all knew the reputation of Quist was about as high as a man could enjoy in this part of the Kingdom.

  The effeminate-sounding man in black held their rapt attention now. He was explaining that he sought the pirate, Quist, for his part in the capture and theft of the new Ciprean Queen, a young woman called Sarel. She was accompanied by a slightly older woman—her maid—named Hela. They all knew he was describing the same women who had been amongst them a day or so ago.

  ‘Who wants to add anything to this story?’ he sneered at the women gathered before him.

  It was Eryn who shouted back. ‘Why would my husband steal this girl you speak of?’

  Goth did not look at her, he continued to address the other women —he did so love playing to a crowd. ‘I’d like to ask him that question myself. Why would he steal our Queen?’

  ‘She’s not your Queen, Goth. You are Tallinese. A murdering, cowardly, cringing, unfaithful dog who deserves nothing from us…not even the spit from my mouth which I’ve already wasted on you.’

  Still he did not face her, but imagined the sharp chill of the early morning biting into bare flesh. Eryn was trembling—a combination of cold and anger. She thought of Tor, saw him putting his long, strong arms around both those women and hugging them close—how safe they would feel. She wished she too could feel those arms around her now. Then she thought of her kind and affectionate husband who, she knew, worshipped the very ground she walked upon, and she thought of Locky, the bright boy with the bright future if only he was not in such a headlong rush to get himself killed. And finally she thought of Petyr, her favourite brother, whose life had been cut short because of the attentions of another man like Goth. A man who liked to bully and take out his insecurities and brutal inclinations on powerless people…on innocents. As a little girl she had held her new baby brother, Petyr, and loved him at first sight. She had also held his wasted dead body in her arms and that would always be her memory of the brother she had adored. Something snapped within her as she watched the former chief inquisitor, now some sort of inquisitor for the Cipreans, strutting about lik
e a peacock—except this was a black-garbed one…more like a crow. He was sinister and dark and devious. He brought death.

  She would not kowtow to him. She would not reveal anything about the whereabouts of Janus or Locky or the women they protected. She would do this for all of them if it took her life. And if it did, she hoped Torkyn Gynt—the only man she had ever loved for nothing more than the man he was—would seek retribution on this death-monger.

  ‘Do what you will, Leper. Neither my girls nor I have anything to tell you,’ she snarled and felt strengthened by her own courage.

  ‘Hang her from that tree,’ he ordered, pointing to the one he wanted. ‘By her feet.’

  Eryn felt all the blood rush to her head. She was disoriented; no longer embarrassed now over her nakedness but more concerned with the amount of pain the Leper would inflict. Humiliation was beyond her. Nothing now would force her to give him the information he sought.

  Eryn felt the sun’s warmth kiss her bare flesh as the first hint of summer began to touch this northern land.

  On that last wonderful night of carefree affection and friendship with Tor, he had told her how he had taught Alyssa not to be afraid— how to escape from her fear and allow her mind to detach and rush to a safe place she called The Green. Eryn had not really understood this at the time but she grasped its meaning now. The menace of impending pain gave her an insight into what Tor had meant when he talked about being able to separate the mind from fear or hurt. She needed to do that now. Eryn did not know how, but she understood that she must remove her spirit from this frightening event and then no matter what the Leper did to her, she could survive it. Perhaps he meant to whip her? Scald her, even…she had heard of such torture to extract information.