Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Cloot left Caradoon immediately; no one had seen him come and none witnessed his silent, heavy-hearted departure.

  The information he brought back to Torkyn Gynt was all bad.

  17

  Quist’s Stand

  Janus Quist was uneasy. The pirate could not pinpoint what was making him feel so edgy, but something was there consuming his thoughts. He had managed to get through the day but he did so through gritted teeth, hardly speaking to the others and grunting his answers to any questions.

  It was nearing dusk and they could just see the outline of trees which told them they were almost at the finger of the Great Forest. Neither of the women rode especially well and for that reason Quist kept the pace slightly slower than he would have liked. He thought Hela might object; she had seemed so jittery and desperate to leave the brothel. But once they were on their way—and especially at the moment he announced they had crossed Caradoon’s unofficial border and were now officially in Tallinor—she seemed to find a calm. And when Locky had pointed out the dark smudge ahead in the far distance as the finger of the Great Forest—not much more than a murky haze at that stage—Hela had visibly relaxed and her conversation became almost playful. She tried hard, but unsuccessfully, to bring him into their laughter and trivial talk about royal life in Cipres, which Locky seemed to find fascinating.

  In truth, Quist would have enjoyed the lighthearted banter if not for this sense of foreboding. There was no reason for it. Their trip south had been uneventful. They had met few people on the road and the weather had been generous as they travelled, even in the evening. There had been no rain to speak of, and no wind, not even the famous biting northerly coming off the mountains. They had lit a fire each evening, eaten well from their plentiful stocks and slept without interruption.

  Except on this particular morning, he noted. He ran his mind back through his strange awakening. He had opened his eyes before dawn in fright. He had looked about him, gathering his wits and calming his racing pulse. Quist was traditionally an early riser, but not before the sun had made her daily announcement. He sat up and was glad to see their small party still sleeping soundly, both women huddled close. He found he liked both of them, with a special respect for the maid, who reminded him of his beloved Eryn. She was plucky and pretty as well as courageous—all qualities he admired in his young wife.

  Janus rubbed his eyes and then realised it was Eryn who had woken him. It seemed she had been calling to him in his dream. She had sounded afraid. He could just pick from the blur of his memory of the dream that he had reassured her. And then, miraculously, she had been swimming with dolphins whilst he stood on a white sand beach and laughed at her shrieks of enjoyment. That was all he could remember. Although he did think he could recall having watched her slip from his sight for the last time, into the depths of the sea, whilst clinging to the fins of two strong, proud males who raced through the salty waters with ease.

  The pirate shook his head clear of his fanciful thoughts. Instead, he imagined Eryn was still fast asleep, and grinned. She hated to rise early and a foul temper could be provoked if she was ever disturbed before sunrise. He knew he would not get back to sleep now he was awake and so did not bother to try. He stood, stretched, and tiptoed around their small camp which they had made for the night. There was a stream nearby and he decided to fetch some water and stoke the embers of the fire in readiness for when the others woke. They had a long day ahead, with a full day’s ride that would see them weary and sore but at the fringe of the Forest by twilight. He missed Eryn. It was his intention to deposit these women into the care of Gynt and be back in the saddle by nightfall—if he could find the man that quickly.

  Locky was completely soppy over the young woman…a Queen no less. And she was just as bad with her coy glances, inviting smiles and that flash of dark eyes. Locky would object loudly at having to leave Sarel and Hela so soon, but Quist knew his mind was made up. The pirate had no intention of tarrying this far south—he was a northern man and, technically, a wanted one on this side of Caradoon. No. He wanted to be back with his wife and close to The Raven as soon as possible.

  He roused the slumbering trio and made them all a tea from leaves he had gathered. Quist was a constant surprise to people. Anyone who thought him an ignorant man because he was a pirate was foolish indeed. He was educated and had decided against a profession because he had a genuine love of the sea. When his father forbade his passion, he had run away from his home in the far southwest of Tallinor, gradually working his way up the coast. At Kyrakavia he had enjoyed many years of seafaring until the ship he was on had fallen prey to Caradoon pirates.

  The pirates had made a bad job of their attack, and this had changed Quist’s life. Quist’s ship, under an excellent captain, could have easily outrun the pirates, but the captain had turned to fight, successfully capturing the pirate ship and slaying most of her crew. Quist’s captain had explained to the young sailor that greed had been the pirates’ downfall. It was from his captain’s mouth that Quist first heard the revolutionary idea: if one pirate could learn to spare all life on board victim ships; perhaps take only half the goods; and not attack the same ship more than twice in a year, then that captain would be prosperous and perhaps even gain a grudging respect from enemies and authorities. The captain had simply been voicing his long-held thoughts out loud, but his words, coupled with the rush of joy Quist had felt chasing the pirate ship, made him decide instantly that pirating was the life for him.

  ‘Will we make it before night closes in?’ Locky asked suddenly, disturbing Quist’s recollection.

  Quist looked up to see all the horses stopped before him and three pairs of eyes focused on his one good one. ‘Sorry…my mind was elsewhere.’

  ‘So we noticed,’ Hela said, but not unkindly. She smiled at him.

  ‘Um…yes, if we push on. Let’s get you women into the safety of those trees and—’

  Quist did not finish what he was going to say. His voice was arrested by a not-so-distant rumble. The others heard it too.

  ‘What’s that?’ Sarel asked, looking around to pinpoint its origin.

  Everyone listened intently.

  ‘Riders,’ Hela and Quist said together.

  Quist looked towards Locky, who was already reaching for the knife he had brought along.

  ‘It’s them,’ Hela said bleakly.

  Sarel had gone pale. ‘Who?’

  ‘Those who wish you dead. I knew they would come. So now we turn and fight.’

  ‘No!’ Quist commanded. ‘Locky, take Sarel and Hela and ride like the wind. We don’t know who they are but if they are pursuers I will hold them up. I promise you, I will delay them long enough for you to make it into the cover of the Forest. Abandon the horses when you dare and hide.’

  ‘I won’t leave you, Janus,’ Locky said.

  ‘You’ll do as I order,’ Quist shouted back. He turned to Hela. ‘Get your Queen to safety. Be brave now and ride as fast as your horse will go.’

  Sarel looked terrified. ‘But I can’t ride that fast.’

  ‘You can!’ Hela admonished. ‘Thank you, Quist. We shall meet again.’

  Quist wanted to say that somehow he did not think they would, but instead he said nothing, leapt down from his horse and gave each of the other mounts a hard slap on the rump. Together with his loud bellowing, it had the desired effect. He saw Locky glance back, a look of anger but also concern on his face, but then he too was galloping, urging the trio of horses faster. Quist watched them grimly; he cast a quick prayer to the Light that it would guide them to safety and prevent the women being unseated from their mounts. Just get to the trees, Locky, he silently urged, and then turned away from their cloud of dust and took a deep breath.

  This was it! This was what the bad feeling had been about all day. He had experienced a premonition of sorts and now he must act to save lives. Quist wanted to reassure himself that it could just be a group of Tallinese guards on the gallop, but after his bleak mood h
e felt this was unlikely.

  He dug in his saddlebags for the small pouch he had tossed in as an afterthought when he packed. It would be a great help now. Quist also removed the two cutlasses he habitually carried on a journey, be it on land or sea. He was a formidable opponent when wielding these blades and today he intended to take as many with him to his grave as possible.

  As he emptied the contents from the pouch in a line across the road, he realised that he was accepting death graciously. It was true. He had no expectation of living through this confrontation and his only intention now was to kill as many of Sarel’s pursuers as he could, giving his friends their best chance of survival. He hoped with all his heart that Torkyn Gynt was in the Great Forest; Hela was following a notion from a dream and although Quist understood none of it, he trusted her faith.

  And so now as he crouched in the shadows of the roadside, as dusk turned to nightfall and the riders were almost upon him, his thoughts inevitably turned to Eryn. He thought of her happy squeals in his dream as she swam with the dolphins and he hoped that she would miss him.

  In the Heartwood Tor and Alyssa, together with Saxon and Arabella, awaited the wolf. It was time to learn more of Rubyn. Impatience surrounded the foursome but they knew Solyana would not be hurried and she would arrive soon enough. It was Cloot who disturbed them, adding to their sense of tension when his sudden flight into the trees caught their attention before he dropped soundlessly and exhausted to the middle of the clearing where they sat. Tor rushed over to pick him up.

  Are you—

  Just tired. Give me a moment.

  ‘Is he all right?’ Alyssa asked, voicing everyone’s concern.

  ‘He’s exhausted. We should let him rest,’ Tor answered.

  No, the falcon replied, breathing deeply and slumping against Tor’s chest. I must deliver deeply distressing news.

  Tor felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck and arms. Cloot was not theatrical in this manner. For him to voice such an opinion made Tor frightened for what they were all about to learn.

  He touched his finger to his lips to stop the others’ questions. ‘Cloot has bad news to share.’

  They all fell silent.

  Tell me, Tor said, softly.

  Goth was at Caradoon, paying a visit to Madame Eryna’s.

  Tor did not want to hear any more; knew he must and clenched his jaw in anticipation of what was coming.

  He’s chasing Sarel, now Queen of Cipres. I’m guessing she has made some sort of daring escape from Orlac. It appears Goth now deals in death for our enemy.

  Tor could see the concern written on the faces of his friends and he nodded slightly to let them know he would deliver news soon. He must allow Cloot to tell it as he chose.

  Go on, he encouraged.

  Goth lingered at the brothel long enough to do his usual dirty style of work and ask questions. He and his men are headed this way.

  Wait, Tor said. He quickly filled the others in on what had been revealed. It all meant little to Alyssa and Arabella but Saxon reacted, rubbing his face with his hands in fear for the young Queen.

  Tell me the rest, Tor said to his falcon.

  I’m sorry, Tor, to bring this news.

  Tor stroked Cloot. I know, but you are our eyes and ears—you must tell it now.

  He heard his bird mentally sigh and knew this would be the last moment of peace in his life, perhaps the news might even sound his death knell. Whatever Cloot was going to tell him would precipitate urgent action, he felt sure, and an end to any vague hopes he had of not needing to shed blood. He felt the Colours pulse and then he heard the ugly tidings.

  Eryn has been slaughtered by Goth. Her girls were beaten by the Ciprean guards who travel with him.

  Eryn’s dead? Tor needed more confirmation. It was as though he understood the series of words but not quite what they meant.

  Cloot’s hate for Goth had built during his flight home and finally crystallised into something impenetrable and determined. Goth must pay with his life for this cruel act. And he realised that Tor would avoid dealing death to any if he could; the only way to ensure Tor felt the full horror of Eryn’s death was to tell it precisely as it was on the bright morning in Caradoon when a hint of summer had wafted on the morning air.

  His voice was deliberately devoid of emotion, hard in fact, as he began his tale of terror. He had stripped her naked and had her strung by her feet from a tree, whereupon he had slit open her belly and emptied its contents.

  None of the others were privy to this horrifying description of what had occurred in Caradoon and they could only watch the shock and grief claim Tor’s lovely face. Alyssa heard his breathing become shallow and both Arabella and Cloot felt the power surge from their bonded one. Tor began to tremble. He stood slowly, very slowly and placed his falcon on a nearby branch and then he deliberately leaned against the tree, absorbing its strength and comfort as he retched long and violently.

  Quist could see them now—faces blank, mouths grimly set. He recognised the uniform of the Ciprean Guard. Hela was right. And at the front rode a man in black. A man whose face was not blank. It was twisted into a snarl as he mercilessly whipped his horse, harder and harder in his furious desperation to reach the Great Forest. The pirate swallowed hard. It had suddenly occurred to him that the mere fact these riders were here at all meant they must have already visited Eryn.

  He could not think on what that meant right now; it would make his hands shake and he needed a resolve of iron to serve him at this moment as he touched the burning kindling to the strange powder and tablet he had purchased years ago in the Caradoon apothecary. The dry, wizened fellow who had sold it to him called it Wizard’s Flame. He had bought it as a novelty but had never got around to trying the deep red flakes which lay in a long line before him. His timing was perfect. He hoped the powder would work. It flared and then as the flames licked the pile in the middle where he had embedded the tablet, it exploded. The blinding flash and unexpected noise disoriented and terrified the horses as they approached at high speed. At least four bucked and threw their riders.

  Good! Quist said to himself as he reached for his cutlasses and melted deeper into the dark to hack at the downed men. He killed three silently and swiftly before the man at the front, the one they called the Leper in Tallinor, restored some sense of order. The horses were spooked. Quist ran up from behind, leaping surprisingly high to sever one man’s head from his neck and hacking off another’s hand. The man began to scream and Quist felt a momentary rush of dark humour as he was reminded of Captain Blackhand and his penchant for removing his enemy’s hands and hanging them from his mast, to blacken and wizen in the wind and salt air.

  Quist rushed back once again into the cover of bushes but he knew the turmoil would not last long. Very quickly he would be discovered. This time Quist ran around to the side of the pack and, much as it distressed him to do so, he began disabling the horses. Now the terrified shrieks of injured animals began to mix with the groans of men.

  The sharp eyes of Goth spotted him. He heard the man call out above the din and then point. So, this was it then. He made his final charge. Quist ran at them hard and managed to fell another two of the guards before he himself was brought down, the backs of his knees expertly slashed to cripple and force him to the ground, helpless. He counted six of the thirteen men dispatched. Another two seriously injured who would probably be left to die and six of the horses no longer able to walk, another four missing. That left only three horses for the remaining able men, he calculated. For one attacker, it was a good effort. Now he must die bravely, he thought, as he watched the Leper approach.

  Goth began to clap. ‘Very good, Quist,’ he applauded. ‘You’ve served her majesty proudly with your fire tricks and flashing blades.’

  This was only the second time Quist had seen the former chief inquisitor of Tallinor. The first occasion had been when Goth, newly arrived in Caradoon, had asked questions in the brothel. All the girls had found hi
m so creepy that Eryn had asked Quist to get rid of him. The pirate had shown him the door and Goth had left without further trouble. Quist had known who the man was but Quist was a Caradoon—so long as the man gave him no bother, he had no desire to open any discussion with the Tallinese who sought him. Reward or not, Quist was not a man to share Caradoon’s secrets.

  The last he had heard, this man was dependent on the stracca and had become useless. Yet here he stood, certainly half the width he had been, but strength still lurked in that body as cruelty still resided in the tormented face. His thoughts fled to Eryn as the Leper’s boots came level with Quist’s eye.

  ‘Get him to his knees,’ Goth ordered.

  The pain was immense as they roughly jerked him into position in front of Goth. He could feel the blood pouring from the vicious cut which had severed tendons. He had no strength in his legs and wished Goth would just get on and finish it now.

  ‘Where is the Queen, Quist?’

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘In the Forest?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where then?’

  ‘Headed for Tal but you’ll never catch her. They have fresh horses and yours I can see are already half dead, even without my contribution,’ he lied.

  ‘Tal, eh?’ Goth’s fist hit Quist so hard that, as strong as he was, he fell to the side heavily. ‘You are lying, pirate. Would you like me to tell you how I know this?’

  Quist said nothing. Goth must have motioned to his men because Quist found himself dazed but back on his knees staring at Goth’s crotch this time. He had heard somewhere that a Kloek had removed the Leper’s manhood and stuffed it into the chief inquisitor’s mouth; left him for dead. It had to be a jest. No one survived that sort of punishment and, if they did, they would probably become a recluse. Goth’s ego seemed intact, if not magnified.

  ‘Look at me with your one eye, Quist, or I’ll poke it out.’